On The Bound
by tatterdemalion
Summary: AU. It's not often one gets a call from their brother, asking for help with a seventy million dollar heist. At least, not where Matthew Williams comes from. Especially not a heist where you have to seduce a very rich Frenchman. Eventual Matthew/Francis.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** On The Bound

**Author:** tatterdemalion

**Rated:** T (for weapons, violence, language, homosexual content); will be changed to M at a later date for sexual scenes.

**Synopsis:** AU Matthew Williams doesn't know what to expect when his brother contacts him for the first time in years. But he quickly finds himself drawn into a plot to steal seventy million dollars worth of artefacts from a very rich Frenchman. Unfortunately, no one told Matt about how...persuasive the Frenchman could be. Eventual Matthew/Francis.

**Pairings:** main; Matthew/Francis. secondary; Alfred/Arthur, one-sided Ivan/Matthew, Roderich/Elizaveta, one-sided Gilbert/Roderich, Sweden/Finland, Ludwig/Feliciano; other pairings mentioned/shown briefly.

**Author's Notes:** So, last week I went to a writing camp, which actually turned out to be so much fun! On the way to the camp, me and my friends watched Ocean's Eleven, and it made me want to write a heist fic. This isn't really the same as Ocean's Eleven, but it does involve Hetalia characters sneaking around and plotting to rob someone. Also, while I was at camp I saw a girl wearing a Canada and England button and realized that I had met my first IRL Hetalia fan and became ecstatic to no end. We talked about gay countries and everyone around us came into our conversations at the wrong time. So that helped me write this too. Anyways, I had tons of fun writing this, I hope you have as much fun reading!

_"All my life is on me now/hail the pages turning/And the future on the bound/Hell don't know my fury/You're all I need..."_ – On the Bound by Fiona Apple

* * *

Matthew Williams supposed he should have been wary when he received a call from his older brother, Alfred, stemming from a long history of grudging favours and annoying wheedling. At the moment, however, he was just glad to hear the voice of a man he hadn't seen in five years.

"Al!" he greeted after picking up the phone in his Ottawa apartment. "How are you? _Where_ are you? I haven't heard from you in ages, eh!"

There was a chuckle on the other end of the line. "It's nice to talk to you too, Matty."

Matt smiled. "What are you doing nowadays, Al?"

"I, uh – I'm actually in London right now." Alfred began.

"Oh! Wow!" Matt leaned back in his chair – his big, shaggy, bear-like dog Kumajirou padded up to him and impatiently nuzzled Matt's hand with his big head. Matt patted him idly, continuing, "Do you live there now or are you there for business? Just a vacation?"

"Ah. Temporarily living for business, actually." Matt missed the hesitant tone in his brother's voice. "That was actually kind of why I called you. You still do that computer thing?"

Matt rolled his eyes. By "that computer thing" Alfred meant the university course Matt had been taking the last time the brothers had seen each other. Matt had been training for a degree in computer programming.

"Yes." He replied, and Alfred gave a crow of laughter.

"Hey, good for you Matty!" he exclaimed. "Listen, you want to come to London with me for a while?"

Matt laughed before he realized Alfred wasn't joking. Then he spluttered a bit and asked, "What, you're _serious_? When?"

"I was thinking tomorrow." Was Alfred's easy reply.

"Alfred." Matt sighed. His brother had always been spontaneous and unrealistic when thinking of ideas, always leaving Matt to run along after him. Things really hadn't changed a bit. "I can't just get up and _go to London_."

There was a pause. "...Why not?" Alfred asked.

"Because..." Matt took of his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I don't really have enough money to buy a plane ticket right now." Truthfully, Matthew didn't have enough money to buy _anything_, really, but Alfred didn't need to know that.

He was surprised when Alfred readily countered, "I'll pay for you to fly down here."

Matt slid his eyes to the left and watched Kumajirou chew happily on a chair leg, so he forgot to find it strange that Alfred didn't mention anything about a return trip. He covered the mouthpiece with his hand and hissed, "Kuma! Cut it out, eh?"

Kumajirou didn't even blink, carrying on chewing. Matt groaned.

"It's like I don't even exist to you!" he grumbled before returning to the phone.

"What's so important that you want me to come to London tomorrow, eh?" he asked Alfred.

"Can't I just want to see my favourite little brother after years of being apart?" came Alfred's innocent reply.

"Al..." Matt tried (and failed) to sound firm. Alfred sighed noisily into the phone.

"I'll _tell_ you when you _get_ here!" he insisted. "C'mon! Just for a little while, it'll be fun! I'll take you sightseeing, you can meet some of my friends!"

When Matt hesitated, Alfred's voice started to become a bit higher pitched. "M-a-a-a-tty..." he whined. "_Please_?"

Finally, Matt relented. "_Fine_." He ground out, and continued over the sound of his brother's loud cheering. "But I can't leave right away, okay? I need to take time off work, I need to find someone to take care of Kumajirou – "

"Who?"

"My _dog_, Alfred, I've had him since I was little!"

"Oh right! Kuma!" Alfred sounded sheepish. "Yeah, sure bro, whatever you need to do! How long do you think it's going to take you to get out here?"

Matt had to think a moment, going over all the things needed to be done in his mind.

"...A week?" he finally guessed. "If my boss is willing to be lenient, that is."

"Oh, I'm sure you'll have no problem with that!" Alfred laughed cheerfully. Matt rolled his eyes. _Easy for _**him**_ to say_...

"I'll get you a plane ticket," Alfred continued. "Oh, and I'll give you my new number, too – you call me when you're ready to leave, okay?"

"Okay." Matt agreed, and after a few more pleasantries the brothers said goodbye and Matt hung up the phone. He looked over at Kumajirou, who cocked his head as if in question.

"Well, I guess we'd better find someone to look after you for a while, eh?" Matt finally sighed. Kumajirou barked.

* * *

Within the week, Matt was stepping off a plane at Heathrow Airport in the late afternoon sunshine of London. Everything had gone suspiciously smoothly for him in Ottawa – Matthew's boss had practically _anticipated_ his request for time off with the ease it had been given to him. Kumajirou was in the capable (if not frightening) hands of Sanchez, the tough talking Cuban guy in the apartment next to Matt's. Matt had called Alfred, who assured him he would see him soon.

Matt couldn't see his brother anywhere among the crowd gathered at "Arrivals" – instead, his eyes were drawn to a fair-headed man who stood at least a head and a half taller than everyone else. He was dressed in a thick-looking coat (though the weather was only a little cloudy) with a scarf wrapped around his neck. People seemed to be giving him a wide berth, which could be attributed to the rather menacing aura about him despite the wide smile on his face. Matt's heart sank when he saw the paper in the man's hands. It read: "_MATTHEW WILLIAMS_".

Matt took a deep breath and switched hands on his carry on. Obviously, Alfred had sent someone to fetch him from the airport. Which was fine, of course, although Matt couldn't help but feel disappointed. It was because of _Alfred_ that Matt had packed a suitcase, left his apartment and dog in the care of a chain-smoking Cuban and flown halfway around the world on a ridiculously long flight at equally ridiculous short notice. The _least_ Alfred could do was meet him at the airport!

Matt grimaced as he approached the big man, hand raised hesitantly in greeting.

"E-excuse me?" he called. The man turned around, then looked down, violet eyes lighting up.

"Ah!" he boomed, crumpling the paper sign up easily and shoving it in his coat pocket. His voice was thick with a Russian accent. "Matthew!"

At Matt's taken aback facial expression, the man explained, "I could tell it was you. You look _just_ like your brother! A little bit prettier, yes, but otherwise the same!"

Before Matt could react, the man stuck out a large hand. "I am Ivan Braginski. It is very nice to meet Matthew."

Matt took his hand. Ivan's skin was cool to the touch and he kept Matt's hand for five seconds longer than was comfortable, all the while smiling pleasantly.

"Uhm." Said Matt, finally yanking his hand back. "I'll – I'll go get my luggage..."

"Oh! Yes, your brother said he would wait for us at the carousel." Ivan turned and began leading the way. Matt couldn't stop a smile from spreading across his face as he hurried to catch up.

"For a second, I thought Alfred hadn't come with you." He offered conversationally, and Ivan glanced down at him.

"I told him I could find you myself, but he insisted on coming along to pick you up," the Russian man explained. "He's very excited to see you."

Matt didn't need to be told twice - a blonde in a familiar bomber jacket was waving enthusiastically from the luggage carousel. He had a half-wrapped burger in his hand from one of the nearby food courts, and Matt had to laugh at the fact that his brother had not outgrown his fondness for fast food.

Alfred all but ran at Matt and threw himself on him - Matt stumbled back a few steps and felt Ivan take his carry on from him. After a few seconds Matt slung his arms around his brother.

"Al." he murmured into his older brother's shoulder. "It's good to see you. I missed you."

Alfred pulled back so he could see Matt's face - Matt took a moment to examine him in return, noting the familiar blue eyes from behind framed glasses and the collar of the bomber jacket he wore, so worn and frayed with age and constant use. Alfred had received that very same bomber jacket for a birthday present when he was fifteen; it was incredible that his brother, who had such a short attention span, could wear something so lovingly for so long.

"You've grown!" Alfred finally said, ruffling Matt's hair. Then he frowned. "Your hair, too."

Matt defensively tucked a bit of his curly blond hair behind his ear. "I like my hair." he grumbled. Alfred snorted and brushed a hand through his own short, straight hair.

"At least _someone_ does." he joked, then clapped Matt on the shoulder. "It's good to see you too, bro! Let's get your suitcase..."

The brothers turned to discover that Ivan had taken half a dozen suitcases off the conveyor belt and was waiting for them.

"I - I only brought one suitcase." Matt said worriedly. Ivan blinked and looked down at the mass of luggage.

"They all had Canadian flags on them," he explained. "So I took them all in case one of them was Matthew's!"

Matt was glad that his feeling of bewilderment was mirrored on Alfred's face as well.

"My suitcase doesn't _have_ a Canadian flag on it!" Matt protested.

"Seriously, Ivan." Alfred sent the taller man an exasperated look. "Put those back, Matt's perfectly capable of getting his own luggage."

Matt could have sworn he saw Ivan's smile flicker - then the big man shrugged and began easily lifting suitcases back onto the belt. Matt caught sight of his lone red suitcase trundling along around the other side of the carousel and excused himself to chase after it.

When he retrieved it and glanced back at Alfred, his brother was talking sternly to Ivan, who was simply nodding along, still smiling.

"If you keep freaking him out," Alfred was muttering as Matt approached them again, "He's not even going to _listen_ to us when - "

"Matthew!" Ivan trilled, interrupting Alfred mid-sentence. "What a cute suitcase you have, I should have known it was yours. Come, I will take it to the car!"

"No, that's okay - " Matt began, but Ivan had already taken it from his hands. The Russian strode ahead as the two brothers fell into step behind him.

Matt glanced sideways at Alfred and asked, "So are you ever going to tell me what's going on?"

"Nothing's going on!" Alfred protested, but Matt gave an exasperated sigh.

"I'm not a little kid anymore, Alfred!" he chastised. "I can _tell_ when you're lying and when something's wrong. I wouldn't fly all the way to England on such short notice if it wasn't really important."

"Just..don't worry about it, Matt. I'll tell you later. Hey!" Alfred's sombre expression gave way to a falsely bright smile. "Have I told you about Ivan's car? It's a sweet deal - real professional-looking. That reminds me..." he grabbed Matt's sleeve and tugged him to catch up with the lumbering Russian.

"Hey, Ivan!" Alfred beamed. "You think I could drive home?"

He got an icy chuckle in response. Smile never changing, Ivan turned to the blonde and murmured, "Why, Alfred, you know I make a point of never letting Americans dirty up my driver's seat."

Alfred's own smile grew tight. "Just asking." he replied coolly, adding, "But I get shotgun, then."

"And we have a guest, too!" Ivan's eyes flickered to Matt, and he clicked his tongue. "Alfred, your manners fail you."

Matt was terrified of the venom underlying their words and, fearing it would get nastier, blurted out, "I don't mind sitting in the back!"

Ivan almost looked disappointed, before they walked out of the airport and were met with a light rain.

Matt was just about to turn up the hood of his jacket when Ivan announced, "I will get the car" and set off into the parking garage, shoulders hunched against the rain, still carrying Matt's suitcase and carry on.

"That was nice of him." Matt noted absently. Alfred made a noncommittal noise and they both stood in silence for a few minutes, listening to the rain on the sidewalk.

"So how do you know Ivan?" Matt finally asked, searching for conversation.

"We're acquaintances." was Alfred's response. "I know him from work."

"And what exactly is it that you do?" Matt pressed on, irritated at his brother's short answer.

"Contracts. For different businesses."

"Oh, like...buildings? Construction?" Matt attempted to expand on the ambiguity.

Alfred took on the look of a freed rat when he saw a dark, sleek car with tinted windows pull up in front of them. "Something like that. Hey, here's the car, hop in the back."

When it came to avoiding something, Alfred was a master at it. Matt obediently opened the door and slid into a plush, dark interior with leather seats.

Alfred opened what on the other side of the Atlantic was the passenger side door, but in England was quite the opposite. As such, Alfred nearly sat on Ivan's lap. The latter arched an eyebrow.

"Four months and you still can't tell right from left." he commented. Alfred flushed and slammed the door, walking around the car. Matt's eyes met Ivan's in the rearview mirror and the Canadian looked away as Alfred got in the proper door and they pulled away from the curb.

"So you've been here four months?" Matt asked his brother, who nodded.

"About that long."

"What about you Ivan? Do you live in the city?" Matt addressed the hulking driver, then balked as the man turned away from the road to answer him.

"No, I am the same. I have been here for four months and I am only living here for business. I come from Moscow originally - it is so different here."

"Th-that's great!" Matt squeaked, and was relieved when Ivan turned back to the road.

Matt entertained himself throughout the drive by asking the two men questions. Both were vague about work ("Yes," Ivan agreed, eyes flitting briefly to Alfred. "I work with your brother...with contracts") but they readily answered most of Matt's other questions (Ivan had two sisters; Alfred happily chattered on about the places he'd visited in the five years Matt hadn't seen him).

They drove into London, past several familiar landmarks - the London Eye, Big Ben - slogged their way through London traffic, and traversed along the Thames. As Matt's jet lag caught up with him, his eyes grew heavy and he leaned his head back on the head rest. Alfred glanced back at him, grinning.

"Jet lag?" he asked, and when Matt nodded sleepily, he laughed. "Just try to stay awake a few more hours, until bed. It'll be easier to get your inner clock adjusted."

"I'll try..." Matt interrupted himself with a jaw-cracking yawn.

"I'll make you some coffee when we get home." Alfred added as they turned off into one of the more affluent London neighborhoods.

Matt rubbed his eyes sleepily and tried not to look at the rearview mirror - Ivan was staring again and his attitude made the Canadian uneasy.

"Here we are!" Alfred announced as they pulled past a gate up a gravel driveway, and parked in front of a jaw-droppingly large house. It was a picturesque old Victorian brick mansion, half-swathed in climbing vines.

"Th-this is _your_ house?" Matt asked Alfred incredulously. Both Ivan and Alfred laughed.

"No, no." Alfred corrected. "This is my _boss's_ house. The Kirkland Manor." he said the last bit in a horribly fake British accent.

Alfred tumbled out of the car and Ivan popped the trunk so the American could pull the luggage out. As Matt was getting out, the front doors of the house opened and a man in a dark suit, brown hair hanging straight past his ears, came out. His eyes were soft and green. He walked up to Alfred and took Matt's bags.

"Thank you." Matt muttered, and the servant looked over at him with a smile.

"You're welcome, sir." he replied, and set off back into the house. Ivan watched him go, leaning on the hood of the car.

"That's Toris." he told the Canadian. "He's a servant in the house. I like him. He is nice and quiet, like you Matthew."

He turned to grin at Matt as Alfred slammed the trunk a bit harder than necessary - this caused the tall man to pull a sour face.

"Right!" the American announced, dusting his hands off and slinging an arm around Matt, steering him towards the house. "C'mon, we'll get you settled, and then you can meet Arthur!"

"Arthur?" Matt repeated, casting a glance back at Ivan, who was staring at his trunk.

"Yeah, my boss. He's a bit prickly, but you'll like him. Hey, you hungry?" Alfred pulled him into the house, into a grand marble foyer with sweeping staircase. Matt gawked while Alfred cupped a hand around his mouth and hollered, "Hello! Anyone home?"

His voice echoed in the immense space. Ivan gave a grunt as he shuffled past them and disappeared down a hallway. Alfred shrugged easily when no one answered, and turned back to Matt.

Matt took a moment to realize that Alfred had asked a question before he started yelling. Startled, he stammered, "S-sure, uh...if you have something I could snack on, that would be great!"

"No problem!" Alfred began pulling him into the house.

Taking a quick glance around to make sure the coast was clear, Matt asked his brother, "Is Ivan always this..." he paused, searching for a word.

"Weird? Creepy?" Alfred finished for him. "Yeah, he is. Be careful around him, okay? He tends to get strange sometimes."

"...Strange like how?" Matt was getting dizzy as they turned corners and thundered down stairs. On the lower floor, the hallways were less elaborate, more plain. Alfred waved his hand flippantly.

"Just...he can freak people out sometimes. I'm just looking out for you bro!" he finished, and pushed his way through a plain, white-washed door. Matt followed.

They were in the kitchen, an immaculate jumble of high-tech machines and devices and staff walking in and out in an organized rush. At the stove, hand on her hip, stirring something in a saucepan, was a short, slight, blonde girl, humming to herself. She was wearing an impossibly short schoolgirl skirt covered in a white apron. A white chef's hat was perched jauntily on her head.

"Hey, Feliks!" Alfred greeted, and when the girl turned around Matt realized with a start that _she_ was a _he_.

"Like, Alfred." Feliks's voice carried a tinge of annoyance. "I am totally behind on dinner, so whatever you want..."

"My brother just arrived," Alfred explained hurriedly as Feliks raised the wooden spoon, "And I was wondering if you had anything he could eat."

"Before dinner?" Feliks pursed his lips and gave Matt a once over. "Well, okay, but only because he's like, really cute." he finally said, and waved towards a pantry along the wall. "There's some crackers in there."

"Thanks, Feliks!" Alfred waltzed over to the door. Matt was left to stare at Feliks, trying hard not to notice how high the chequered school girl skirt fell, and what looked like a generous smudge of pink gloss on the boy's lips. Feliks caught him looking and sent him a sly look.

"You like my outfit?" the cook twirled for effect, smirking.

"Uh." said Matt.

Alfred came back at this moment with a packet of crackers, already shoving a few in his mouth. "Thanks again, Feliks." he said in a muffled voice.

Feliks was about to say something, but one of the light-bulbs above their heads burnt out just as the saucepan's contents began to bubble. The blonde turned back to the stove with a little cry.

"Can you, like, do me a favor?" he asked as he began turning the heat down on the element. "If you see Toris, tell him to come down and see me! And tell him the sauce is, like, totally skimming, and the vegetables haven't even gone in yet!"

"We'll tell him." Matt promised, as Alfred's mouth was full of crumbs. Alfred tried to agree and ended up spewing crumbs on the clean kitchen floor.

Feliks looked unimpressed, and Matt shot him an uneasy smile as he herded his older brother out of the kitchen.

"The cook's a cross-dresser?" he hissed at Alfred when they left the kitchen. Alfred nodded and handed Matt the cracker packet.

"Yeah, that's Feliks. He and Toris are tight, so he's an all right guy. Eat some crackers, okay? Or I'll be tempted to eat them all myself."

Matt let himself be dragged around the house again, munching carefully at some crackers. As they walked past various room, Alfred would stop to poke his head into them.

"No one's here!" Matt's elder brother complained, pouting and towing Matt along. "I guess you'll see everyone at dinner..."

Toris was walking down the hallways towards them, and he dipped his head in greeting.

"Mister Williams." he murmured. "I put your things in the third bedroom at the end of the hallway. If there are any problems, please let me know."

"Thank you." Matt replied, a bit bewildered. He was not used to this sort of subservient environment, but luckily Alfred cut in before Matt felt forced to say more out of politeness.

"Hey, I almost forgot. Toris, Feliks was looking for you."

The docile expression on the brunette's face was briefly replaced by one of worry. "Did he say why?" he questioned, and gave a tired smile when the brothers shook their heads.

"Thank you for delivering the message. If there's nothing else, I should go see what he wants."

"By all means." Alfred allowed grandly, and with another bob of the head Toris walked smartly off down the hallway.

Alfred turned back to Matt, and excited look on his face.

"Come on," he said cheerfully. "I'll take you to see Arthur."

* * *

_END CHAPTER ONE_

_

* * *

_**Author's Note**: Thanks for reading the first chapter of On The Bound! Feedback in any shape or form is always, always appreciated! This is my first time writing a multi-chaptered Hetalia story and I could really use the critique.

**EDIT (31/03/11): Fixed some grammar and spelling errors.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note**: Thanks for sticking with the story! Here's the second chapter.

* * *

Arthur's study was located on the second floor, and Alfred almost looked nervous as he stood in front of the polished oak door. He took the half-empty cracker packet from Matt's hands and straightened his baby brother's shirt collar. Then, flashing his custom million watt smile, Alfred raised his hand and knocked twice, sharply, on the wood. After a few seconds, he turned the knob and pushed the door open.

The room beyond was spacious, with large bay windows to let in light, and the decoration was decidedly...English. Or, at least what Matt _thought_ looked "decidedly English". The walls were a dark green; oil paintings hung in sturdy wooden frames, and several medieval weapons were mounted on the far wall, by the windows. Bookshelves lined the rest of the walls, and across the heavy carpeted floor was an elaborate desk with a wing-backed chair. Sitting in the chair was a tawny-haired man with the bushiest eyebrows Matt had ever seen, typing away at a laptop. A cup of tea sat on the desk beside him.

Matt suddenly received a sharp elbow in his ribs, and a look from Alfred that probably meant, "don't say anything stupid" or "don't say anything about his eyebrows", which were probably the same thing.

Not that Matt would think of saying something like that. All his life he had been polite to a fault. It was something he could imagine _Alfred_ saying, though, which was probably why he was reminding Matt now.

"Alfred." the man looked up now, face set in a serious frown. "Is this your brother?"

"Yup!" Alfred prodded Matt forward. "This is Matt! Matt, this is my boss, Arthur Kirkland."

"Your boss." Matt echoed faintly - he thought Alfred did _construction contracts_, and he had never heard of a contractor living with his rich boss. Maybe he meant business or office contracts, Matt thought (though the last time he saw Alfred, he was striving to become a pilot...)

Arthur had his head raised and his serious green eyes met Matt's blue ones.

Matt smiled. "Hello, sir." he greeted. "You have a lovely home. Thank you for letting me stay here."

Arthur gave a little smile. "Hello. You're quite welcome." he stood, straightening his tie. He came around the desk, hand outstretched. Matt took it, and Arthur peered at him.

"The family resemblance is certainly there," Arthur noted with a wry smile, adding, "Though I certainly hope your attitude is an improvement on your brother's."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Alfred demanded, already picking a few more crackers from the packet. Arthur turned, and the look in his eyes immediately changed. Whereas before his face carried a mask of politeness, when he looked at Alfred his whole demeanor shifted into the first true emotion Matt had seen on him.

That emotion was annoyance. His green eyes flashed and his eyebrows drew themselves down, mouth set in a frown that made him look older.

"Alfred, you are getting crumbs on the carpet." he accused, and Alfred stared.

"Sorry." the blonde replied. More crumbs flew from his mouth. Arthur frowned harder, if that were possible.

"It's a half-hour before dinner. You shouldn't be stuffing your face so soon before a meal."

"Aw, c'mon Arty!" Alfred whined, and the Englishman bristled.

"Don't call me that!"

Matt watched them with a mixture of humor and apprehension. The two of them looked so funny, staring each other down like an old married couple. A giggle escaped his lips and Alfred and Arthur turned to him.

"S-sorry!" Matt laughed. "It's just..."

Arthur was glowering, and Matt felt slightly cowed. "You don't act like employer and employee." he finished apologetically.

"Usually an employee treats his boss with more _respect_." Arthur grumbled his agreement with a pointed look at Alfred, who looked offended.

"I give you _loads_ of respect!" he protested. "But you don't give me _any_! I can't even eat crackers in your presence without getting told off!"

"I'm only _telling you off_ because you're making a mess." was Arthur's retort.

Matt sighed heavily. "I'm going to go to my room, if that's all right." he told Alfred

"Huh? Oh, sure Matt."

Matt left them standing in the office, shaking his head. He proceeded to walk down the hall, remembering Toris's words. The three doors at the end of the hall were all shut, and Matt paused, unsure. Eventually, he grasped one of the door handles and opened it up.

Ivan was standing in the center of the room, talking rapidly on a cell phone in Russian. He had removed his coat and was wearing a grey long-sleeved shirt with the sleeves rolled up and black slacks - however, the scarf from before was still wrapped securely around his neck. His eyes fell on Matt and he smiled, crooking a finger to beckon Matt inside.

The Canadian shook his head, meaning to back out of the room and try another door, but Ivan by that time had finished his conversation, snapped his cell phone closed, and was pulling Matt back into the room.

"What a surprise!" Ivan exclaimed, shutting the door behind him. "That you would come to see me! How are you, Matthew?"

"I'm sorry!" Matt managed, trying not to stare as Ivan crossed the room and pulled a bottle of vodka from the bedside table. "I didn't know what room I was in so I tried this one but...obviously someone's here."

"Yes." Ivan's smile was unnerving. Matt tried another tactic.

"Do you know if the room next to you is unoccupied?"

"Oh, no, someone is using that room as well." Ivan replied, beginning to pour vodka into a glass.

"OK, so it's probably the room across the hall." Matt babbled, reaching behind him for the door handle.

Ivan kept smiling but Matt could've sworn his eyes got colder. "You don't like me very much, Matthew?" he asked.

"Wh-what?" Matt laughed weakly. "Of course not! What would make you think that?"

"You do not want to spend time with me." Ivan pointed out, then cocked his head. "Your brother has been spreading rumors, I think."

"You've misunderstood!" Matt protested frantically. Ivan held out the glass.

"Then?" he prompted. "Come, sit with me. We will talk and be friends, yes?"

Matt reluctantly took the glass. "As long as we're not late for dinner." he relented. Ivan shook his head in confirmation.

Matt sat stiffly in a spare chair; across from him, Ivan sank his massive frame down onto the bed and took a drink from the vodka bottle.

Matt grinned hesitantly and joked, "What is that, an aperitif?"

"Something like that." Ivan licked his lips and rested the bottle against his thigh. "So, Matthew. What is it that you do for a living?"

"Oh! Well, I, uh, I work for an office's security force. Alarm systems, security cameras, stuff like that."

"Are you good at your job?" Ivan asked. Matt frowned.

"I would like to think so, yes." he replied, tapping his fingers against the glass Ivan had given him. Ivan leaned back, a predatory smirk on his face.

"And well you should think, from what I've heard." the Russian drawled cryptically. Matt frowned.

"What's that mean?"

"I heard that you helped your brother hack into the administration system back in high school, when you were in your second year."

Matt choked. "What?" he asked incredulously.

"To help him pass English? You changed his marks?" Ivan chuckled at the bright red colour that was spreading across the Canadian's face. "My, my. Matthew has such an innocent face, but you would do anything for your brother, right?"

"That - that's not it at all!" Matt sprang to his feet, ears and cheeks hot. He was mortified that this complete stranger knew such an intimate detail about him. How _dare_ Alfred spread that around?

"Please excuse me." he managed to grind out. "I should be getting to my room to prepare for this evening."

"Matthew..." Ivan got to his feet, but Matt backed away.

"I did not mean to offend." Ivan continued. "I was merely asking."

"Yeah, w-well...usually people don't _ask_ about stuff like that, eh?" Matt mumbled. "I'll see you at dinner."

He didn't wait for Ivan to reply, and hastily took his leave.

If Ivan knew about _that_ when he was simply Alfred's "acquaintance", Matt cringed at the thought of how many other "acquaintances" had been told as well. He was so preoccupied with his embarrassment that he nearly ran into a small boy going in the other direction. The boy shrieked and flattened himself against the wall out of harm's way. Matt, not expecting such an overreaction, tripped and clipped his head against a door-frame on his way down. His glasses flew off in the process, which left him winded and blurry-eyed on the floor. Small, shaky hands touched his shoulders.

"O-oh, my gosh!" came the boy's voice. "I'm s-so sorry, sir, I didn't mean..."

Ivan's door opened and the boy made a wounded sound as Matt pulled himself into a sitting position.

"Raivis?" Ivan asked. "What's happened?"

Raivis, the boy, sounded as if he was about to faint at any moment. "M-m-mister Braginski!" he trembled. "I knocked Mister Williams over, I'm sorry sir!"

Matt waved a hand in what he thought was Raivis's general direction (it was hard to tell when everything was just a blur). "Don't worry, it was my fault, I tripped. Do you see my glasses anywhere?"

"They're over here." Ivan's voice moved off down the hall. Matt put a hand on the wall in order to get to his feet. His head was throbbing in an annoying fashion.

"S - sir!" Raivis exclaimed suddenly. "You're bleeding!"

Matt touched the side of his head in confusion. His fingers came away wet. He heard Ivan come back, and the blurry image of the tall Russian crouched down in front of him.

"Here." he heard - then cool hands slid his glasses back on his face. Matt blinked to clear his eyes and saw Ivan staring back at him, head cocked.

"Raivis." the Russian said suddenly, rising back to his full height, and Matt could have sworn the poor boy jumped a foot in the air. "Take Matthew to get cleaned up. I will tell the other that he will be delayed."

"This way, sir." Raivis muttered, and led Matt down the hallway.

"Thank you." Matt called to Ivan, temporarily forgetting that he was supposed to be angry. The tall man smiled.

* * *

Raivis took Matt back down to the kitchen, where he apologized profusely while dabbing at the Canadian's head with a cotton ball soaked in antiseptic. Matt tried to reassure the boy he was all right, to no avail. Raivis's older brother Eduard, the gardener, came in and was introduced. Eduard was a tall, serious man with a pair of glasses perched on his nose. He seemed very solemn but became extremely paranoid when he learned Raivis had been involved in the incident (Raivis had to fend off his older brother by insisting he was unharmed before he could tend to Matthew).

"How old are you?" Matt asked Raivis as he finished up.

"Eighteen." came the answer. Matt laughed before he could stop himself, then felt bad.

"Sorry! It's just that...I would've thought you to be younger. Fourteen, maybe."

Raivis gave a little smile. "I get that a lot," he admitted, wringing his hands. "I didn't grow very much when I was a kid. T - the doctors think it's because I was so stressed out."

"And you're less stressed now?" Matt asked; when Raivis nodded, the older blonde gave him a dubious once over. The kid was a bundle of nerves - his thin shoulders were constantly hunched, his hands jumping and the tips of his mussed hair quivered with his erratical vibrations. Matt felt bad for him, and hated to think what this was an improvement of.

He saw Raivis hesitate, then say, "I...I had lots of therapy when I was younger so...I got better at calming down."

"That's good." Matt nodded. "Does it affect your work at all?"

"Oh, no." Raivis gave a bashful smile. "I usually help Eddy out in the garden, that's calming work."

"Mister Williams." All of a sudden, Toris poked his head into the kitchen. "They're asking after you upstairs, sir."

"Oh, right!" Matt rocketed up and nearly upturned the First Aid kit beside him. "Sorry, Toris! And sorry Raivis, I didn't mean to take you from your duties."

"It's fine, it's the least I could do." was Raivis's demure reply.

The two would've kept exchanging petty pleasantries if Toris hadn't cleared his throat quietly. After a last goodbye to Raivis (and Feliks, who had been chatting happily to Toris in the hallway), Toris led Matt up to the main floor. Suddenly, Matt stopped short.

"What should I wear?" he asked Toris anxiously. "I - is this good enough? I didn't expect this...formal of a setting. I have a dressier shirt in my suitcase, I could run upstairs and change..."

Toris interrupted by reaching out and straightening Matt's collar.

"You look fine." he assured, smiling. "Your brother's talked of little else but your visit - they are all quite eager to see you."

Matt flushed. "I guess." he admitted.

He followed the servant through the main foyer and into a large dining room. Six people were already seated at the lavish dining table, and Matt flashed an apologetic smile.

"I'm sorry I'm late." he apologized, and slipped into the remaining empty chair. Arthur was at the head of the table; to Matt's right was a straight-faced, willowy Asian man with a sleek bob of shiny black hair. On his left was a man with pale hair and red eyes, snickering to himself. Ivan was directly across the table from him and Matt avoided his gaze.

"Your head is okay, Matthew?" Ivan asked, raising his fork to his mouth.

"Yes. Thank you." Matt answered. "Ravis took very good care of me."

The albino man on his left muttered something that might have been, "Yeah, I _bet_ he did," and then laughed into his wine glass. A blonde man with immaculate, slicked back hair sent him a warning look from across the table. The two were wearing identical iron crosses hanging from their necks. Matt began picking at the fancy salad in front of him as Arthur cleared his throat.

"I believe introductions are in order?" he prompted. Alfred, who had been staring worriedly at his brother's forehead, shook himself.

"Right, yeah!" he motioned at the red-eyed man. "Matt this is Gilbert Weillschmidt - " the albino waved cheekily, " - and his brother Ludwig." The other man gave a curt nod when introduced. With a flourish of a hand to the man on Matt's right, Alfred concluded, "And this is Kiku Honda. Er." he stopped and frowned. "Honda Kiku. Is your name Kiku or Honda? I always forget which one comes first."

The Asian man sighed. "My name is Kiku, Alfred-san."

"Yeah, sorry." Alfred apologized. "Everyone, this is my brother, Matt."

Matt felt like he was being examined rather than introduced.

Ludwig's ice blue eyes flickered under pale eyelashes, and he asked, "Do you play any sports, Matthew?" his voice carried a heavy German accent.

"Uh, no?" Matt replied, and the man's brow creased.

"Do you keep yourself in good physical condition?" he pressed.

Matt looked down at himself. Alfred was the broad-shouldered, athletic one in the family; Matt was more of the lanky, thin, "no muscles whatsoever" brother.

"I...walk my dog a lot?" he offered. Ludwig pursed his lips and turned back to his salad without a word. Matt shrunk a little in his seat.

The rest of the dinner didn't improve. The food was good at least - no matter _what_ Feliks might be wearing, no one could deny his cooking skills. Arthur asked Matt about his education; Kiku engaged him in a knowledgeable conversation about computers; Gilbert seemed disappointed that this was only Matt's second trip outside of North America.

At the end of dinner, Matt was more confused than before it had started. Alfred had been sending him reassuring looks throughout the meal, but had not said a word to him. Finally, Arthur stood up.

"I believe it's time to take this conversation elsewhere."

The five men at the table exchanged meaningful glances and stood up, chairs scraping against the floor. After a moment Matt followed suit, staring questioningly at his brother, who shook his head.

They reconvened in Arthur's study. Ivan helped bring in some extra chairs and everyone took a seat facing the desk. Arthur settled into his wing-backed chair from earlier, folded his arms and stared directly at Matt.

"Your brother has told us a lot about you Matthew," he began. "And I believe you may be able to help us."

Matt realized he was supposed to say something. "Uh...well, I'll try to do whatever I can?" he offered. The men smiled. Arthur looked pleased.

"How would you like to make a large amount of money simply by pressing a few keys?" he asked.

An affronted looking Kiku began, "I hardly think that's all he'll - " before he was shushed by Alfred.

"...I'm not sure I understand." Matt said slowly. He was suddenly acutely aware that he was in the office of a man he'd only met a few hours ago, sitting in a chair between hulking Ivan and strong, serious Ludwig. "What kind of job is it?"

"Matty, I've been really busy these past five years." Alfred jumped in. "And I'm sorry that I couldn't have told you in a better way, but I really need your help."

Matt shifted uneasily in his seat. "What's going on?" he demanded. "Alfred, just tell me."

Alfred avoided his eyes. "I'm doing something more lucrative than flyin' planes now, Matty." he admitted. "People hire me to steal things."

There was a pause. "Pardon?" Matt asked faintly, wondering (hoping) he'd misheard. Alfred leaned forward in his seat.

"All five of us, we're a team." he explained. "We pull off heists for a living. Money, artefacts, paintings...you name it, we steal it. We're the best in the business. No matter if it's in a museum or a vault, we can get it for you."

"This is crazy." Matt declared, and rose to his feet. Ivan rose as well, and Matt realized they may be serious.

"Matthew will sit down, please." Ivan requested. Matt glared up at him with all the strength he could muster.

"I came here to see my brother," he said firmly. "Not to be roped into some crazy scheme."

"You could stand to make a large amount of money." Arthur offered. He had been watching the events unfold with an air of amused detachment. Matt turned to him angrily.

"I don't want _or_ need your money." he protested.

Arthur slid open a drawer and withdrew a manilla envelope. Shuffling through the papers, he finally stopped and read, " '_Alfred. I can't just get up and _go to London_._' '_Why not?_' '_Because I don't really have enough money to buy a plane ticket right now_.' " the British man looked up and smiled. It was the smile of a businessman when they know they have their client right where they want them. "It doesn't seem like you need my money _at all_." he sighed. "Tell me, how is your credit?"

"Hey, whoa." Alfred spoke up anxiously as Matt spluttered in indignation. _Did he record our conversation?_ Matt wondered. _Why?_ "Look, Art, I don't want you to _force_ this on him. He's not being punished or anything, he's allowed to choose."

"The moment _you_ had the idea to phone him up," Arthur pointed coolly at Alfred, "You involved him irreversibly. It would really be in his best interest to accept our offer."

Matt ground his teeth and glared daggers at Alfred. "So the only reason you phoned me after _five years_ was to ask me to help you commit a crime?"

"What?" Alfred looked genuinely bewildered. "No! It wasn't just that - "

"Yeah, I get it." Matt interrupted. "I'm not really of an interest to you unless I'm helping you with something, eh? Like that high school incident you're so fond of telling people about."

"Who told you about - " Alfred's eyes scanned the group, and he frowned. "Ivan!"

"I thought it was a funny story." Ivan shrugged carelessly. He placed his large palms on Matt's shoulders. "Matthew, please sit down. We will talk like civilized people, yes?"

His hands tightened warningly around Matt's shoulders, and the Canadian decided it would be wise to back down. He dropped down in his seat - Ivan followed suit, clasping his hands in his lap.

Everyone was looking at him; Matt took a shaky breath.

"What are you stealing?" he asked calmly.

* * *

_END CHAPTER TWO_

_

* * *

**Author's Note**: Thank you for reading! Feedback is always appreciated!_


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note**: Well, I'm glad you guys seem to like it so far! Here's the next chapter.

* * *

"Francis Bonnefoy," Arthur began, placing his hands down flat on the desk's surface. "Is the son of a wealthy businessman. His father died when he was young and he took over the family business. He is an eccentric art collector, with summer homes all over the world and a main home in the south of France. I want you to steal _this_."

Arthur pushed a piece of paper across his desk and Matt took it from him. It was a clear, high-definition picture of a grand old, Renaissance-style room, all golds and reds and tapestry hung walls. It looked like a miniature museum, crammed full of statues, books, furniture, glass cases full of old and precious things. Nothing jumped out at Matt as being particularly important, and he paused in realization.

"What, steal the whole _room_?" he asked.

Arthur nodded, completely serious.

"Everything in it?" Matt asked again. "H-how much would that be worth?"

Arthur paused with a smile. "Around seventy million dollars, in total." he replied.

Matt's jaw dropped. "M-Mr. Kirkland," he began. "I don't have any experience in stealing things. I can't even hop a fence without great difficulty, I'm not sure what I'm supposed to - "

"This room," Arthur interrupted, "is located on the second floor of Mr. Bonnefoy's estate and is protected by almost every security measure one could think of. The windows are bullet-proof and unable to open. It is equipped with state of the art motion detectors, security cameras, and a vault door that requires three codes. Most of these precautions are electronically controlled through the security control center in the estate. We need someone who is skilled in the management of computers _and_ knows a fair bit about hacking. That's where you come in."

"But why fly _me_, specifically, all the way from Canada?" Matt demanded. "Couldn't you have hired someone a bit more experienced?"

"I don't just hire _anyone_." Arthur told him grimly. "In this business, people talk. They backstab and rat each other out. The only reassurance one has is _family_. Blood ties, you understand? For such a last-minute decision, you were a logical choice."

"Plus we saw your photo beforehand, which helped." Gilbert piped up. Matt cast a quizzical glance at Arthur, who rolled his eyes.

"In order to disable the security system, you'd have to either be Bonnefoy himself, or someone who worked closely with the system. Meaning we're going to plant you in the Bonnefoy residence as an employee in order to gain access to security."

"It's nice for you because Bonnefoy likes his boys pretty, if you know what I mean." Gilbert cackle. He was sharply elbowed by Alfred.

"_What_?" Matt exclaimed.

"We wouldn't dream of asking you to do something like that!" Arthur spoke loudly over the different voices. "But I will admit, with Bonnefoy's..._known tastes_...it helps for our purpose that you are rather attractive."

Matt wasn't sure how to take that.

"S-so, I somehow have to get hired by Bonnefoy, gain his trust, than break into his security room to disable it?" Matt confirmed.

"It's easier than you think," Arthur told him. "Gilbert's our communication's man."

"I've got a contact in Bonnefoy's lower staff," Gilbert explained. "She'll interview you for a job - you'll get it, no problem."

"Look, just give him a break, guys!" Alfred interjected. "Give him some time to think this over - "

"Nice of you to consider my feelings _now_." Matt muttered a bit vindictively. Alfred sent him an exasperated look.

"Matt, it's really not the time for that!" his brother groaned. "I'm sorry I dragged you into this, but I didn't know how else to call!"

Matt didn't know what to say - instead he removed his glasses and massaged the space between his eyebrows with two fingers. No one said anything for a moment.

Finally Matt replaced his glasses and asked solemnly, "What if I refuse?"

Arthur rolled a fountain pen absently around his desk. "Don't." he suggested. Ivan shifted in his seat, and if Matt had turned to look at him he would guess the Russian was smiling.

"We have a month and a half before you need to pull off the heist." Arthur continued. "There's no time to find a replacement. I would strongly advice you to take the job."

"I don't believe this." Matt exhaled, then paused. "Why only a month and a half?"

"Because I don't have time to pay you to sit on your arse!" Arthur snapped suddenly.

Gilbert wiggled his eyebrows at Matt and leaned forward in his seat. "Kirkland and Bonnefoy, they don't really like each other." the red-eyed man told him. His voice also had the lilt of a German accent, though it wasn't as thick as his brother's. "So Kirkland wants to humiliate Bonnefoy by having us rip him off while he'd throwing this big party in a month 'n a half." Arthur sent him a look and the Prussian man shut up.

Arthur was expecting them to steal seventy million dollars worth of valuables (most of which came in the unfortunate and hard to conceal shapes of statues and paintings) from an impenetrable room while the owner held a lavish party in the house with hundreds of witnesses present.

Matt heaved a sigh. "This is going to be a ridiculous job." he informed Arthur, who smiled.

"Which is why I hired _you_ to do it _for_ me." he pointed out, then rose to his feet.

"Welcome to the team Matthew. Gentlemen, you have your job. I bid you goodnight."

* * *

Alfred followed Matt to his room in an attempt to talk to him. Matt was doing his best to ignore his brother until he got lost in the immense expanse of Arthur's mansion and Alfred had only agreed to lead him back if Matt would promise to listen to him.

"Do you think I'm a horrible person?" Alfred ask when they got back to Matt's room, closing the door and leaning against it as if he was worried Matt would try an escape attempt. Matt looked over at him. His brother was chewing nervously on his lower lip, eyes wide with anticipation. Alfred had been absolutely adorable when he was a child, and he had kept his youthful good looks into his adulthood, using them liberally to his advantage. Matt sighed.

"Of course I don't." he answered, and Alfred's shoulders dropped in relief. Feeling a bit more relaxed now, Alfred took a few steps into the room, sitting hesitantly on the edge of the bed. Once he was confident enough that Matt wasn't going to kick him out, he continued.

"I know I did a really shitty thing, not talking to you for five years then keepin' you in the dark about what I wanted and forcing a decision on you." Alfred's eyes were begging for forgiveness - he looked suspiciously like Kumajirou. Matt wondered idly if his brother had learned that from his dog, or vice versa.

"I didn't know the guys were gonna be so harsh - and for the record, just ignore Gil, most of the time he's talking out his ass. It's just...they had asked me if I knew someone who was knowledgeable with computers who was also loyal and reliable. And I thought...you know, you were my best friend growing up and I told them I never trusted anyone as much as I trust you, Matty."

_Oh_. He was good. Matt had forgotten the guilty, heart-melting feeling that came with a sorry Alfred.

"And I would never ask you to do this if I thought it was dangerous," Alfred continued earnestly. "Like, if they asked for a smart, reliable computer whiz who was also willing to shoot a sniper rifle into a crowd of people, I wouldn't of even _thought_ of calling you..."

"Do you often require someone to shoot a sniper rifle into a crowd of people?" Matt asked in disbelief. Alfred, realizing his mistake, blinked a couple of times.

"No! Not..._often_." he admitted. Matt threw up his hands in exasperation.

"This is ridiculous." he declared. "Just tell me, once I...shut off this doohickey, is that all I'll have to do?"

"Absolutely!" Alfred nodded, voice suddenly full of enthusiasm. "You won't even be part of the actual heist, me and Gilbert and Ludwig and Kiku and Ivan will take care of it all."

"And once this job's done, I can just wash my hands of everything? Walk away from it without getting into trouble?" Matt realized the implications of his questions a split second before he watched Alfred's face fall.

"Yeah, Matty." his brother said miserably. "You can go back to your life. Afterwards, I won't bother you again."

"Alfred!" Matt exclaimed. "You know that's not what I meant. I'm just..._new_ at this, eh? I'm scared something will go wrong. I don't want to go to jail."

Alfred's eyes lit up. "Hey, no worries!" he reached over to ruffle Matt's hair, something Matt was beginning to find very annoying. "I'm a pro, you'll see. Everything'll be smooth sailing. _Plus_ you'll be rolling in dough by the end of it." Alfred beamed, looking so happy Matt _had_ to crack a smile.

"I'll take your word for it." he scoffed, and Alfred flashed him a thumbs up.

"Hey, I gotta run, bro, but get some sleep, okay? We have a busy day ahead of us." he winked, snuck in another ruffle of Matt's hair, and left the room.

Matt desperately wished for a drink.

Stepping out of his room a couple of minutes later, he caught the tail end of a conversation being carried out by Toris and Alfred.

" - such a nice man, I really don't think you should be putting him at risk like this." Toris was hissing, sounding uncharacteristically forceful.

"I can take care of him Toris, you know I will!" Alfred insisted.

"Alfred." the lack of formality sounded foreign on Toris's tongue. "I hope you know what you're doing."

Their voices grew faint as they moved down the hallway.

"Of course I do!" Alfred's voice boomed, but Matt had known his brother long enough to recognize the tremor of uncertainty present. When he couldn't hear their voices anymore, Matt closed his door quietly and crossed the hallway, knocking on the opposite door.

When Ivan opened it, Matt asked, "Do you have any more of that vodka?"

* * *

It could of have been Matt's imagination, but both he and Ivan had been downing drinks for the past hour and a half, and Ivan seemed to be completely unaffected by the copious amounts of alcohol he had just consumed. The Russian had pulled his chair up to the side of the bed and was sitting there grinning, leaning his elbows on his knees. Matt, for his part, could hardly sit up straight on the bed, lying on his back and giggling through his fingers.

"Wh-what the hell, Braginski?" he managed. "You're a _tank_. You can really hold your alcohol, eh?"

Ivan smirked. "It is good Russian vodka," he answered. "You must have a good head for it. It is too strong for Matthew?"

Matt scowled and pushed his curly hair from his eyes. "You're always so _patronizing_." he accused, and promptly fell off the bed at Ivan's feet. He felt Ivan reach down and place a big palm against his cheek - it was cool against Matt's hot flesh, and the inebriated blonde let out a breath against the carpet.

"Oh, _дорогай_." Ivan's voice rumbled deliciously in Matt's ears. "Do you need me to take care of you?"

"No." Matt pouted into the carpet.

A chuckle. Ivan's hands slipped under Matt's armpits and lifted him effortlessly to his feet.

"Thanks." Matt tried to say, but instead it came out as, "You think, if I do this job really well, my brother will come back and we'll be a family again?"

_Shit_, Matt thought, but before he could try again Ivan sat him back down on the bed and knelt before him, gripping his shoulders so the younger man didn't topple over.

"_дорогай_." Ivan began. "Sometimes family does not always mean that you will be together."

"Not true." Matt denied, trying to tug Ivan's hands off him and rise to his feet. In response, Ivan suddenly pushed him on his back and loomed over him so he couldn't try to leave again.

"Matthew, do not feel like your brother abandoned you." Ivan told him, and even in his drunken state, Matt recoiled from the words.

"I don't think - " he began.

"Yes you do." Ivan interrupted. "I know because you and me, we are the _same,_ Matthew. When I was young my mother and father died. My older sister Katya took care of me and our baby sister Natalia. When we got older she left us. I did not forgive her for that, for many years. I did not like being alone and I felt she had betrayed me. It never occurred to me that she had been selfless most of her life by putting her siblings before her own happiness. When she tried to live her own life, I...I overreacted. I said some things that I wish I didn't. Your brother may have left you but that does not mean he has _forgotten_ you, Matthew."

Matt stared up at the tall man, lost for words. "I - Ivan." he murmured breathlessly, and something in the man's violet eyes changed.

"Do you get lonely, _дорогай_?" he purred, sliding a hand up Matt's side, and the younger man let him, reason numbed with alcohol.

"Sometimes." he admitted. "Do you?"

"Very often, ever since I left my sisters to go to London." Ivan hummed, tucking a wisp of Matt's hair behind his ear. "But lonely people must find each other, yes?"

Just as Ivan's fingers reached for the buttons of Matt's dress shirt, a voice sang out, "Jones is gonna kill yo-u-u-u!"

Ivan snatched his fingers away, growling something under his breath, and disappeared out of Matt's vision. The bespectacled blonde propped himself up on one elbow and saw a smirking red-eyed man sitting comfortably in the abandoned chair by the bed, his own glass of vodka in hand.

"_Gilbert_?" Matt asked. "When did _you_ get here?"

The Prussian's smile got wider. "_Liebling_, I let myself in about twenty minutes ago, and neither of you noticed. _You_ are obviously too drunk to acknowledge even _my_ awesomeness, and _Ivan_ is doing some very naughty things that you _should not do_ with your teammate's younger brother." Gilbert sipped at the alcohol, making a face at the way it burned his throat on the way down. "Great party you have here. Am I interrupting something?"

Matt realized he was directing this question at Ivan, who was standing rather unsteadily by the bed, looking between Gilbert and Matt.

"No, not at all." the Russian man said with a forced smile.

"Oh, good!" Gilbert laughed, and propped his feet up on the bed. Matt stared at him blankly. Ivan caught this and gripped under his armpits again.

"I think, Matthew." he said. "That you should go to your room and rest. I very much enjoyed talking to you."

"Me too." Matt tried to slur as he was hoisted bodily across the room and out the door. Ivan scooped him up as if he were a doll and deposited him in his own room.

"Thank you, Ivan." Matt finally managed to say something coherent. "You have...very nice..." he was torn between Ivan's fantastic vodka and his fantastic eyes. "...vodka." he finished lamely. Ivan cocked his head.

"I will pretend that is Canadian slang." he cooed. "And I am very happy you think so. Good night, _дорогай_."

"Guh." said Matt, collapsing onto the bed.

Ivan left him after that, and when Matt woke up the next morning his head was pounding, his clothes were wrinkled, and he couldn't remember half of what had gone on last night. He _did_, however, remember Gilbert being there, though that could have been part of the dream he had where he was climbing a wall a la Mission Impossible and his suction cups had given way.

Matt groaned, rolled over, realized he was about to become involved in a heist to steal a bounty of seventy million dollars, groaned again, and got up to go for a shower.

When he came out of the bathroom, dripping wet and with a towel around his waist, he jumped when he saw Gilbert looking through his suitcase.

"Wh-what are you doing?" Matt demanded. Gilbert looked over.

"Hey. How'd you sleep?" he asked. "You have a headache?"

"Yes." Matt muttered. _And you're not making it any better_, he added silently as the red-eyed man grinned and gave him the thumbs up.

"You were pretty far gone last night." Gilbert commented.

"Was I?" Matt asked nervously. "I - what did I do?"

"Oh...nothing much." Gilbert's smile was wicked. "Took off your clothes, danced on the table top."

Matt gaped, and eventually the Prussian rolled his eyes. "I'm _kidding_." he intoned. "You just lost your motor coordination. You okay?"

Gilbert's voice was horribly loud this morning, and Matt winced with each harsh syllable. He was beginning to think that Alfred had some competition for the "worst person to talk to when one has a hangover" award.

"Yeah...you have any aspirin or something?"

Gilbert dug around in his pocket and tossed a small bottle at him. "Here ya go. Better than aspirin. It'll clear that head right up."

Dubiously, Matt shook out a few small pills from the bottle, and gave it back. "Hold on, I'll get some water."

"And put some pants on while you're at it!" Gilbert called after him as he walked back to the bathroom. "You're cute, but not really my type!"

"_Gilbert_!" Matt exclaimed, mortified, and shut the bathroom door on the man's laughing face so he could pull on his jeans. Taking a gulp of water from the bathroom tap in order to down the pills, he scampered out into the room in order to tug on a shirt.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, subconsciously zipping up his suitcase from Gilbert's prying eyes.

"I'm here to take you to breakfast. Arthur's out at a meeting but we can take the opportunity to talk about the heist."

"Okay." Matt said hesitantly. "Let's go."

"Thank God!" Gilbert bounded to his feet. "I'm starving!"

Matt followed the man down to the lower dining room. Toris and Raivis were bringing in food, and Ludwig and Kiku were already seated. Alfred and Ivan were absent.

"Good morning, Matthew." Kiku greeted quietly, dipping his head so his sheet of shiny black hair fell in front of his ears. Ludwig didn't look up.

"Good morning." Matt answered, and Gilbert prodded him into the spot he had at dinner before sitting down next to his brother.

"Yo, West," he nudged his brother. "Pass the bacon."

"Gilbert, it's closer to you than it is to me." Ludwig pointed out - he had a newspaper folded on the table and was reading the business section. Gilbert pouted.

"But We-e-est!" he whined.

"West?" Matt asked Kiku, who nodded.

"Their parents divorced when they were young," the Japanese man explained. "They received separate custody. Ludwig lived with his father on the west side of their city and Gilbert lived on the east side with their mother. It's sort of their nicknames for each other."

"Oh." Matt sat and watched the two brothers bicker - or, rather, Gilbert annoy his brother and Ludwig diligently attempted to read the newspaper.

"Where's Ivan? And Alfred?" Matt asked as he poured himself some coffee.

"What an _interesting_ question." Gilbert interjected, elbowing his brother again. Ludwig managed to not spill his coffee on the current events.

"Stop doing that." he told Gilbert.

"Alfred is usually always late to breakfast." Kiku spoke up. "I do not know where Ivan is."

"I am here." the voice behind Matt made him crane his head. The Russian man took a seat next to Matt and reached across the table for some scrambled eggs. His eyes looked a little bloodshot, but he seemed to give no indication of a hangover.

"Good morning, Ivan." Kiku greeted. "How are you?"

Ivan gave a grunt. "Good enough. How are you?"

"Fine." was Kiku's answer, and Matt noticed the awkward silence that fell over the table, broken only by the rustling of the newspaper.

Then Ivan turned to Matt and smiled. "You are also good, Matthew?"

"Yes. Thank you." Matt gave a hesitant smile in return. "I...hope I didn't leave a bad impression with my behavior last night. I don't really remember anything."

"No?" Ivan glanced at Gilbert, then back at Matt. "You do not need to worry, Matthew. You were very...adorable, yes? That is the word?"

"What's happening?" Alfred had appeared behind them, clutching the back of Matt's chair. He was fixing Ivan with a sharp stare, and Ivan smiled sweetly.

"Ah, Alfred." he greeted. "So good of you to join us."

"Yeah, well..." Alfred didn't finish that thought, just plopped down in a seat and started piling food on his plate.

Matt watched his brother with amusement. "You gonna eat all of that?" he asked his brother.

"Of course I am." Alfred declared through a mouthful of food.

There was another silence as the men ate breakfast. Toris drifted in and out, refilling coffee and taking away empty plates. Matt wasn't used to eating this much at one sitting, and was soon sitting contentedly, watching the rest of them eat.

"So is this like Ocean's Eleven or something?" he asked his brother. Alfred paused halfway through trying to steal bacon off Gilbert's plate, to which the white-haired man frowned.

"What?" Alfred asked. Gilbert tried to upturn Alfred's coffee into his lap in return but was stopped by Ludwig.

"I mean, when you pull a heist do you guys have specific...jobs? Or do you all just do whatever?" Matt flushed red at the looks he was getting.

Alfred smirked at his brother's expression, then pointed his fork at Ludwig. "Ludwig is our weapons specialist. He's in charge of anything we might need in case of extra...persuasion. Gil, he's our "connections man". Usually he can get us what he needs through people he knows. Kiku works mainly with external communication, to keep us connected to each other throughout a job. Ivan's the getaway driver, I guess..."

"I do more than pull up outside with a van, you know." Ivan interrupted, a bit of an offended look on his face. "I'm responsible for transportation, without me - "

"Yeah, yeah." Alfred moaned. "I've heard it all before. I'm just trying to break it down for Matty."

There was a pause. "What're you, then, Al?" Matt inquired. The other men at the table exchanged exasperated looks, with plenty of eye rolling. Alfred's grin got bigger, and he took a deep breath.

"Why, I'm the _hero_, of course!"

* * *

_END CHAPTER THREE._

_

* * *

_

**Translations:**

_дорогай _- "darling" in Russian (thank you to hyperthermophile for the correction!)

_Liebling_ - "darling" in German

**Author's Note: **Thanks for reading, I'll try my best to update as soon as I can!


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:** Unfortunately, Francis does not appear in this chapter. But the mafia does, so I guess that's something!

* * *

Matt was on another plane. It figured, he sighed, chancing a glance at his brother beside him - who was snoring away blissfully, he might add! - that three days after taking a flight to England he'd be taking _another_ one to the south of France. It was a late flight, so Matt could have time to sleep and shower and make himself presentable before meeting Gilbert's contact in the Bonnefoy residence for a job interview. Matt yawned into the inside of his wrist and nervously gripped the armrest of his seat.

He missed Ottawa. He missed driving on the other side of the road and the shop round the corner from his apartment that sold _real_ maple syrup, and Kumajirou waking him up then refusing to fetch Matt's slippers or newspaper or _anything_. Matt had tried phoning Sanchez yesterday and was greeted by the Cuban man growling into the phone, "Do you have any _fucking_ idea what time it is???"

After apologizing incessantly to Sanchez, who calmed down after the first few seconds of initial anger ("Sorry, sorry," he apologized in his rough, gravelly voice. "I thought you was someone else!") Matt had kept their conversation brief - Sanchez was in no mood to indulge his neighbor's homesickness. He reported that the apartment was good, the plants had been watered, and Kumajirou was still full of boundless energy ("I don't understand!" the Cuban moaned. "I've taken him for so many walks my feet are 'bout to fall off!" Matt suppressed a laugh). Matt thanked the man, promised that when he called back it would be at a more appropriate hour, then hung up.

Now here he was, an hour from their destination, all for what? The guy next to him, of course. Matt only had two weaknesses - maple syrup (born from his incessant sweet tooth as a child), and his brother.

Thing was, maple syrup never made him fly thousands of kilometers from his home in order to take part in a crazy heist.

Only Ivan, Alfred, and Matt were flying down to France on this flight - Ludwig was joining them later after traveling a little further, to Italy - "He's gonna talk with our supplier!" Alfred informed Matt cheerfully but failed to specify _who_ this supplier was and _what_, exactly, they were supplying. Gilbert was going with his brother for backup.

Kiku was traveling all the way to China to pick up an order of parts that he needed for the job; when Matt had asked why he couldn't simply have the parts shipped to him, Kiku had smiled politely into his sleeve and murmured something like, "Matthew-san is very amusing" before busying himself elsewhere.

With all the information (or lack thereof) that Matt was receiving, he felt like quite an outsider. Which made sense, he reasoned. If the team trusted him enough to let him in on more confidential information, that would mean they weren't going to let him off the hook after the job was done. He should be grateful they were leaving him with such a clean, no-strings-attached exit.

That didn't stop him from feeling any less lonely.

Matt couldn't look out the window because the shutter was pulled down for the night - instead, he looked out across the sleeping form of his brother and inadvertently caught Ivan's eye. The big man was sitting across the aisle from them, having requested two seats so he could stretch out his legs in relative comfort in the cramped space.

Ivan beckoned him over. Matt looked at Alfred, then gave a shrug as if to say, "_I'm sort of trapped_".

Ivan persisted and eventually Matt heaved a sigh and attempted to crawl over his brother, who had flung his limbs every which way during his slumber. Ivan must of wanted him to suffer, Matt thought sourly as he watched the Russian try to hold in his amusement. Matt was just edging past his brother's knees when Alfred's arm shot out and dragged the Canadian down so their chests were flush. Matt held back a yelp and tried to disentangle himself. He swore he heard Ivan giggle.

Alfred muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "Artie" and tried to hook his other arm around Matt's waist. Mortified, Matt wriggled out of his brother's grip and nearly fell on Ivan in turn. Ivan chuckled.

"I am sorry that you had to work so hard to come see me," he declared, not really sounding sorry at all. "But at the same time, I am happy for the entertainment, yes?"

"Thanks." Matt muttered, and sat down properly in the seat next to Ivan, pulling his legs up under him. Ivan's large frame seemed comically enhanced in the small space, scarily enveloping. No matter how Matt arranged himself, a part of him was always touching the big man - knees, elbows, what have you.

After a few seconds of watching Matt shift in his seat, Ivan pulled the boy's legs onto his lap and draped one heavy arm over them.

"There!" he proclaimed. "Now Matthew is comfy?"

Matt blinked a few times. "Yeah. Thanks." he chuckled weakly. Ivan's arm felt warm across his shins. The Russian bent over Matt's legs in order to rifle through his bag; he pulled from it a small little box.

"I am wanting you to play chess with me, Matthew. Do you know how?"

"Er, sort of." Matt started as Ivan started unpacking the miniature, magnetic chess set. "But I'm not very good - "

"Does not matter." Ivan assured, reaching over to arrange the board on Matt's lap. "You will learn."

Matt stared down at the chessboard, chewing nervously on his lower lip as he watched Ivan line up the pieces on either side.

"Matthew will be white." Ivan instructed. "White always goes first."

"Why?" Matt asked, flexing his fingers and trying to remember the names and moves of each piece (_pawn_? _bishop_? _rook_?)

"Because people used to believe that black was a lucky color," the Russian explained, his eyes flitting across the board. "So white would go first because the player with the black pieces already had an advantage."

Matt raised his eyebrows. "And do you feel lucky, Ivan?"

Ivan chuckled and let his tongue flick out between his lips. "Apparently not, since I took black."

Matt gave a weak smile, and averted his eyes. "So...I'll start, then."

"Any time you are ready, Matthew." Ivan's eyes glinted and his face slipped into a mask of concentration. He followed the path of Matthew's fingers as he reached over to move a white pawn forward two spaces. Ivan responded with his own, black pawn. He had to reach into Matt's lap to move his pieces, causing the Canadian a bit of embarrassment.

Matt was nervous. He didn't want to seem like an idiot in front of Ivan, but so far all they were doing was moving pieces across the board. Then, Ivan moved his knight out onto the board, on a diagonal space right across from his pawn.

Matt reached forward, but as his thumb and forefinger closed over his pawn, Ivan purred, "Your first lesson, Matthew. You must examine all your...angles, yes?"

Matt stared at him, then back down at the board. The he noticed, with a hot rush of embarrassment, Ivan's bishop standing stark on the other end of the board, ready to move in a cutting diagonal in the very spot Matt was going to put his pawn. Sacrifice for a sacrifice.

Matt blushed and almost retracted his fingers, but then he thought for a minute, and took Ivan's knight anyways. Ivan looked almost....proud of him?

"Lesson number two." the big man murmured, slicing across the board to capture Matt's recently victorious pawn. "Do not be afraid of sacrifices if they are...bearable."

Matt felt less embarrassed, and shot a brilliant smile at Ivan. He was surprised when _Ivan_ was the first to look away, and motioned at the board with his big palm. "Continue."

Having only played chess a few times, Matt was surprised that the number of pieces captured on both sides were almost even (except Ivan had captured more of his important pieces, but _still_!)

The big man reached up to scratch his neck under his scarf, and Matt asked, "Why do you always wear that scarf?"

Ivan blinked at him. "Ah. It was a gift from my sister."

"You have two, right? Which sister?" Matt pressed, eyes occasionally flickering back to the game at hand.

"The elder. Katya. She is three years older than me. She is very good with her hands, and she knits things. She made me this scarf when I was a teenager, and I don't usually take it off. It is very cold where I come from, so when I was younger and we had little money she would make things herself. One time, she made a pair of mittens for my younger sister Natalia. She is three years younger than me - strange, yes? Anyways, the mittens were pink but Natalia did not like pink, so she purposely dropped them in the mud on the way to school so that they would become dirty and turn a darker colour. Check."

"Ch - wha?" Matt looked down at the board, then up at Ivan's grinning face. He had been so wrapped up in Ivan's story - the man's accent made his voice so entrancing to listen to.

"Lesson three." Ivan sounded pleased. "Do not become distracted from your main purpose. If you mindlessly change your positions without thinking through every step you make, you stray from your goal."

As the bespectacled boy blushed, Ivan gestured at the board, signifying that it was Matt's move. Matt stuck his lower lip out in a habit of concentration, scanning the pieces. Ivan's queen was one move away from taking Matt's king - then his eyes landed on his knight.

Ivan's queen was captured. He looked up just as Ivan's eyes slid away from his lips, and Matt grinned despite himself. It seemed Ivan wasn't following his own advice.

"And what if I do lose sight of my main goal?" he asked, watching Ivan's hand move languidly over his pieces.

"Then you stop, take a breath, and refocus." Ivan explained. "When you get more experienced, Matthew, you will learn to plan out your intentions ahead of time. You will learn to read people - to guess what they will do before they know what they will do. For example, you are thinking you will use your rook - " Matt's fingers twitched away from said piece, but Ivan put his hand over the Canadian's and guided it to where he had intended to put it. " - and then I will use my pawn, which you forgot to incorporate in your thinking because you are too busy looking at all the other pieces - "

The rook fell. Matt flushed.

" - and then here I am, a step closer to a checkmate." Ivan finished.

"How...how do you _learn_ this, though?" Matt insisted. The pretense of a chess game was momentarily abandoned, and Matt remembered anxiously that he was trying to _steal_ security codes from a multi-millionaire. Ivan remained calm.

"Experience." he replied simply. "Luckily, Matthew, you are both sincere in your actions and physically unalarming, both of which will help you with your task. You will not be independent in this, either, which saves us from factoring in collateral damages. But please, _дорогай_, make a move. I am...how do you say it? _Dying_ from excitement." the big man flashed him a feral grin.

_дорогай_, Matt wondered as his fingers danced over his pieces. Now where had he heard _that_ before?

Then, Matt saw it. Ivan had left his king completely exposed, save for one lone rook. It would be an easy check. But was it a trap? Matt stilled his fingers, barely believing his luck, and chanced a glance at Ivan.

The man's face was smooth and expressionless, but when he saw Matt looking at him he said, "Fourth lesson, then. Most of the time, Matthew, your gut instinct is the one you trust."

Matt moved. The rook fell. "Ch-check." Matt stammered, a bit of pride surging in his heart. Ivan smiled, and it was a warm smile.

"_Молодец_!" he said, then smiled. "But it is only a _check_, _дорогай_."

"Fine." Matt grinned back, feeling better than he had in days. "Then let's keep playing."

* * *

Alfred blinked blearily as he was jostled in his seat. Sitting up straighter (_man_, these airplane seats always left him with _such_ a crick in his neck!), he realized that the seat-belt signs were on and they were beginning to land. As he groped around for his belt, he came to the conclusion that Matt wasn't in the seat beside him. Straightening his glasses, which had slipped down his nose during his sleep, he looked over to see his brother's back, hunched in concentration, facing Ivan.

"Hey, Matty - " he began, and was surprised when his brother half-turned in order to _shush_ him.

"Hold on, Al, I'm thinking!" Matt hissed, then turned back. Alfred was speechless.

Ivan gave his usual leer from over Matt's shoulder. "We are playing chess," he said, by way of explanation.

Sure, like that explained _everything_. Alfred propped himself up on the armrests.

"Oh." he replied lamely. Then: "Who's winning?"

"Me." Ivan and Matt answered at the same time, and when Matt spoke Alfred could hear the amusement in his baby brother's voice.

"You just don't want to admit how close I am."

"Oh, you are _close_, Matthew." Ivan agreed, his lips quirking upwards in a teasing expression. "But you are not going to _win_."

Matt gave a very un-Matt like snort. "Just move." he ordered, and absently ran a hand through his blond curls. There was a piece sticking up like a spring, and Alfred watched it jump in the poor light of the cabin with a frown on his face.

Ivan smirked triumphantly - both at the move he just made _and_ at the expression on Alfred's face. "Something wrong, Jones?" he asked, and Alfred scowled.

"No, but you two should put on your seat-belts 'cuz we're landing!" he snapped, more testily than he should have. Ivan gently took the chessboard from Matt's lap, ignoring the whine the Canadian gave him.

"I will have time to win after we land." Ivan explained, and laughed at the face Matt made.

Alfred slowly simmered in his seat.

It's not like he was _opposed_ to Matt making friends with his teammates, Alfred reasoned as the plane bumped and rattled in its descent. But hell, there were better people to befriend. Like Kiku. Kiku was quiet and didn't cause trouble and didn't go through people's rooms at two in the morning smelling like vodka (sure, that was one time, but it was a _traumatizing_ one time!). Matt was quiet; Kiku was quiet. Alfred figured they would go well together! Two peas in a pod, two cats on a branch - whatever.

Even _Ludwig_, who Alfred considered stiffer than a corpse with a stick up its ass, would have made a better friend than some hulking, scarf-wearing Russian who knew _exactly_ how to get under Alfred F. Jones's skin and took pleasure in doing so at least once a day.

Alfred ground his teeth when Ivan had the _audacity_ to finger the flyaway curl atop Matt's head and resolutely read the onboard magazine.

They landed a little bit after midnight and, despite the rush for the baggage claim area, were out of the airport not too long after that. Matt was surprised, but pleased - due to his chess game with Ivan, he hadn't had much sleep and was looking forward to maybe sneaking in a quick power nap.

A rental car was waiting for them, and Ivan looked displeased. "Such a puny thing." he complained as they slid in - Alfred had meaningfully taken the passenger seat once more, leaving Matt in the back. "No good for speed. I get better one for job, yes?"

"Yeah, of course you will." Alfred reassured, feeling grumpy and all-together _not_ up for a discussion about cars at this hour.

Ivan, however, was content to dreamily talk about cars as they sped down the roads of Provence, a southeastern French region of scrubland and slight hills with a hot, dry climate. Matt had his window rolled down to catch the breeze. They were close enough to the coast (they had landed in the Marseille Provence Airport) that the humidity from the water was of some relief, but the night was sweltering.

"We're going to stay in a hotel, and then when Artie comes down to join us we'll stay at his place," Alfred was explaining as Matt drew himself back into the conversation.

Matt frowned. "Why is Mr. Kirkland coming down here?" he asked. "Wouldn't it be better if he stays _away_ from a crime that could possible implicate him?"

"We only have to worry about ourselves." Alfred told him, and grinned. "Arthur wants to be there to see the look on Bonnefoy's face, I guess."

"Either that or he does not trust us as far as he can throw us." Ivan spoke up, and Alfred glowered at him.

"Nah," the American declared. "Artie trusts us!"

Ivan rolled his eyes at that.

They stayed in Marseille, in a quaint hotel by the sea. Matt's room had a balcony that overlooked the port and the islands beyond. The temperature was making the Canadian's eyes heavy, and with one last look at the view he retired back inside to go to sleep.

Which was when Alfred and Ivan started to strike up a conversation. Matt could hear them through the walls, since they were in the rooms on either side of him.

They were speaking in such low tones that their voices started to bleed together - Matt almost swore they were speaking Russian at one point, so muffled and foreign were the syllables. But as Alfred got more worked up, his voice spiked, became crisper.

"And _what_, then, are you trying to accomplish with my brother?" he asked, rudely, and immediately dropped his voice when he realized just how loud he was.

Ivan's voice, usually smooth, held a tinge of irritation. "I am attempting to teach him some valuable tricks, instead of sending him in blind like _you_ seem to be favoring."

Alfred spluttered out, "I'm not _sending him in blind_! There's nothing to tell him right now! He just needs to get through the interview, get acquainted with the house, and Arthur will tell him what to steal and how!"

"You need to give him some guidance." came Ivan's hissed reply. "Men like Bonnefoy, their specialty is boys like your brother. Unsure, no self-confidence..._weak_. It is like watching a lion stalk a three legged antelope."

Stung, Matt lifted his arm from under the covers and punched the wall several times in quick succession. Their voices hushed.

"...Matty?" came Alfred's uncertain question. Matt scowled up at the ceiling.

"Just go to bed!" he called out, then turned on his side.

Three legged antelope, huh? And here he was just starting to like it here. Matt wished Kumajirou were here so he could have something soft to squeeze. He bundled up his sheets into his fist and held it against his cheek.

Good enough.

* * *

Ludwig wasn't sure _when_, exactly, he had become friends with the youngest son of Boss Romulus, one of the most influential and dangerous mafia bosses in Italy. Ludwig had first met the boy - and he _was_ a boy, almost ten years his junior - about a year ago when the team had flown in to Rome for that disastrous Italian job (no, not the movie; the one where Alfred had thought it a good idea to tell Boss Romulus what he thought of his hairpiece. "Honesty is the best policy!" Alfred had protested when the man had ordered a hit on him). Ludwig, always better at negotiations than Alfred, had been sent to appease the family. It was there that he met the Vargas twins, successors to Romulus's extensive crime legacy.

The elder of the twins, Lovino, at least _acted_ the part of heir to the mob - he was a surly young man with dark brown hair, impeccably styled save for one thin cowlick that jutted out by his ear, and within thirty seconds of meeting Ludwig was ready to make him swim with the fishes. Ludwig was not impressed.

He was even _less_ impressed when he saw the younger Vargas, Feliciano, a flimsy little boy with a soft, high voice, trilling endlessly about pasta or siestas. Even _Romano_ seemed annoyed at his brother.

Ludwig remembered that summer, sitting there in the dim lighting of the "discussion room" as Lovino so blatantly named it (was that supposed to scare him? The little brat didn't know Ludwig at all).

Lovino had his feet propped up on the table, suit jacket open against the sweltering heat, tie loosened to show a peek of sun-kissed skin down the front of his shirt. He looked the part of a casual, "I'm not afraid to hit you with a crowbar" mobster.

"I'm just sayin', ya bastard," he was griping at Ludwig. "There's really no reason to come crawlin' back because of what your buddy said and expect us to change our minds. No one talks to Boss like that and gets away with it."

"He has the mentality of a three year old," Ludwig explained patiently. "He didn't mean it. Alfred just gets excited sometimes."

"Well, maybe you should put him on a leash!" Lovino snapped. "Look, if someone's dog started tearin' up your lawn, you'd be mad at the owners, right? So if your little American pup's not gonna behave, don't let him out!"

Ludwig, who owned three Rottweilers and had the poor foresight to let Gilbert name one, felt offended. He was good at training dogs. _Alfred_ was not a dog; in fact, he was worse. _Dogs_, at least, could be taught!

"Ve~ Lovi!" It was the smaller of the two Vargas, who had propped his face in his hands and was giving Ludwig a cheerful, open-mouthed smile. "You should forgive and forget~! Grandpa Rome says..."

"He's our _father_, dimwit!" Lovino snapped. "And I'm not gonna forgive and forget! We're in the _mafia_, that's the whole point!"

"I thought we were in the mafia because it was our family~" Feliciano pointed out. Lovino scowled.

"Still!"

"He, he, Germany!" It took Ludwig a minute to realize the young boy was talking to him, and turned his head slightly.

"Me?" he asked. Feliciano laughed.

"_Si_, you! Do you like pasta, Germany?"

Ludwig never found himself _disliking_ pasta, and told Feliciano as much. The Italian gave a swift bob of the head, cowlick (identical to his brother's) bobbing as he went.

"Mmm, that is the same as liking it! Me and Germany will be good friends!"

"Hey, shut up Feli, I'm trying to _intimidate him_!" Lovino yelled at his brother, and Ludwig was surprised when the elder puffed his cheeks up and turned an unbecoming shade of red. One of the dark suited Mafiosi who had been instructed to supervise the meeting burst out into laughter. The man had dark brown hair and a gentle face.

"Oh, Lovi, _pobrecito_!" he cooed. "You look like a tomato!"

Lovino became even more flustered. "Just _shut up_ Antonio!" he whirled around and gave Ludwig a death stare. "_Everyone_, just shut up!"

Antonio gave another giggle. Ludwig wondered if he shouldn't just let _Ivan_ handle negotiations. At least the big man would have done a better job at keeping the complete bewilderment off his face, like Ludwig was trying and failing to do.

As the dark haired Mafioso continued to gently tease Lovino, Feliciano turned to Ludwig with that same innocent smile.

"Ah~ Germany!" he laughed. "Would you come with me to the _piazza_ to buy some pasta?"

And that was that. Ludwig went out to lunch with Feliciano and when he came back Lovino, looking like he had just scrubbed angry tears off his face and was sulking in an adorable fashion, declared that they would call off the hit on Alfred if the team got out of Rome within the next forty-eight hours.

("Come back to visit me soon~!" Feliciano had warbled; his brother had rudely tugged on his cowlick and yelled, "_Idiota_! Stop contradicting me!")

Strangely, Ludwig _had_ gone back. One time to ask if Alfred was allowed back in the city for another job ("Of course, of course!" Feliciano had assured, talking over his spluttering brother. "Any friend of Germany's is a friend of mine!") and then several times after to do business. What Feliciano lacked in an intimidating front he made up for in a talented, almost eagle-eye for business and deals. He always had what Ludwig wanted, and at a fairly reasonable price too. Whenever Ludwig needed something of a confidential nature, he went to Rome.

Ludwig felt at home with Feliciano, despite the age difference and the fact that the younger Vargas didn't look as if he had any brains in his pretty head. The Italian would often surprise Ludwig by being wise in his own way, and eventually Ludwig had steeled himself against irritation at the brunette's childish and air-headed antics.

Feliciano was waiting for Ludwig and Gilbert at the airport, something Ludwig found funny considering he always had to wait for an appointment with the mafia. When Feliciano saw him, he ran at him, wringing his hands in anxiety. Ludwig held out his arms for the man to jump into, trying to ignore his brother's snickers. Feliciano had always been affectionate, and Gilbert loved to tease him about it when the Italian was out of earshot. Feliciano gave him the customary two kisses on the cheek.

Ludwig barely had time to half-heartedly purse his lips before the little Italian pulled back, crying, "Germany, it's terrible! _Mio fratello_ and Antonio are fighting!"

Ludwig stared down at him. Gilbert asked, "Don't they always?"

"_Si_, but this time it is different! Lovi, he's locked himself in his room!" Feliciano wailed.

Lovino and Antonio, Ludwig had learned over the years, were an interesting pair. Antonio, a Spaniard who had come into service for the Vargas family years ago, was sort of the elder twin's pet. He was always by Lovino's side, and seemed to be the only one brave enough (or stupid enough, depending on how you looked at it) to tease the elder Vargas. Ludwig was pretty sure, if it was anyone else, Lovino would've had them put in the trunk of a car and shot at. But not Antonio. Lovino showed an extraordinary amount of tolerance of the Spaniard (though, that often consisted of yelling, swearing, or sulking in an amusing child-like manner). Then the Spaniard would laugh and daringly kiss the Italian's nose or cheek in public, resulting in Lovino storming away and Antonio being forced to give chase, laughing all the while. Antonio was known for his easy-going nature, thick-headed tendencies and an almost ridiculous absence of fear of his boss.

"It'll go away in a day or two, won't it?" Gilbert asked, having also been privy to Lovino's temper tantrums. "I mean, Lovino always talks to Antonio after a day or two."

"But this time it's _Antonio_ who isn't talking to Lovino." Feliciano wailed, and Ludwig and Gilbert exchanged startled glances. This was surprising. Antonio usually had the patience of a _saint_ when it came to Lovino, and took the constant verbal (and sometimes physical) abuse in laughing stride.

"Why isn't he talking to him?" Gilbert demanded, but Feliciano was causing a scene. He very dearly loved his brother and thought him and Antonio were absolutely perfect with each other. As his gasps became fast-paced, Ludwig placed his hands on the short man's shoulders.

"Shush, Feliciano." Ludwig commanded, feeling the beginnings of a headache form. "Here, we'll take you to lunch, and you will explain. _Ja_?"

"Y-yes." Feliciano sniffled, and gratefully wrapped his tiny hand in Ludwig's own large one, towing the blonde towards the car. Ludwig caught Gilbert's eyes as they started to move.

Gilbert was grinning.

* * *

Matt had thought that Arthur's home was massive. It was nothing compared to the French estate he now stood in front of. What the home lacked in English regality, it made up for in sprawling, casual expanse. Behind the home, he was told, was where the vineyards and gardens lay, ones that Bonnefoy kept impeccably groomed.

"Here we are!" Alfred had been grinning broadly all morning, maybe hoping that Matt _hadn't_ heard the conversation that had gone on the night before. "Right. You need to go around the back to the staff entrance, and Gilbert's contact will meet you there for the interview. You got it, Matt?"

"Yeah, I got it." Matt said, a bit more sullenly than he'd meant to. When his brother's grin slipped a little, Matt sighed and reached out to squeeze his shoulder.

"And you'll be back in an hour? I can call you?"

"Yup!" Alfred held up his phone. "It's all here! Don't worry about it!"

Ivan was leaning on the roof of the car, chin propped up on his arm. His violet eyes bored into Matt's, and the Canadian felt a little annoyed. First insults and now silence. Ivan Braginsky really was a piece of work

When Ivan noticed Matt looking at him, he opened his mouth. "Matthew - "

"I get it." Matt said quickly, and offered a sardonic grin. "I won't trip. I've only got three legs, haven't I?"

"I saw a program once." the Russian said in all seriousness. "Where a lion was preparing to charge a group of antelope. It chose the one it thought was weakest, and tried to separate it from the herd. The antelope and the lion grappled for several minutes, until the antelope gored the lion in the throat. The lion died and the antelope lived."

Alfred stared at the Russian. "You been drinking?" he asked. " 'S only ten o'clock."

Matt turned back to the house so Ivan wouldn't see him smiling.

Around the side of the house was a dirt driveway leading up to the back and a small parking lot for the staff. Once Matt reached it, he knocked on the door labeled, "_NO SOLICITORS_" and "_TRESPASSERS WILL BE SHOT_", and waited only a few seconds before it swung open.

The woman who answered it was dressed in a simple green dress with an apron. Her long, brown hair was pulled back with a clasp and she was holding a frying pan in her left hand.

"You must be Matthew Williams." she greeted with a smile on her pretty face.

"My name is Elizaveta, and I am Mr. Bonnefoy's cook. Won't you come in?"

* * *

_END CHAPTER FOUR_

* * *

**Translation:**

_Молодец_ - Russian for "well done", I believe.

**Author's Note:** Boss Romulus = Rome. Romulus was the man who was said to be raised by a wolf and who later went on to found the city of Rome.

Thanks, as always, for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:** Haha, I guess there's a reason why I put "_eventual_ Matthew/Francis". Francis appears in this chapter, but briefly. I swear to God, I'll make it up with lots of Francis next chapter. I just needed to get the boring stuff out of the way.

* * *

Elizaveta, the cook, led Matt through through the staff entrance into a large kitchen not unlike the one Feliks had in London. However, this one was less stark, more airy. There were blue tiles and a window was open to the sunshine. There was a small table and chair, maybe for the kitchen staff to eat meals. Elizaveta motioned for him to sit down and he did so, feeling the wood creak under him.

"So. Williams. You come from Canada?" she asked. She had a trace of an accent that wasn't really French.

"Y-yes. I've lived in Ottawa for most of my life."

"Ah. I visited Canada once. A very nice place." she turned to him with a smile. "My parents are originally from Hungary, you see, but they often visit Ontario in the fall. Now that I am married, I do not get much time to travel."

"What does your husband do?" Matt asked, and smiled at her in thanks as she placed a glass of water in front of him.

"He is the head of household staff here, in Mr. Bonnefoy's home." Elizaveta answered, and pushed a chair out so she could sit very close to Matt. As soon as she did, her voice lowered.

"You are the one sent by Gilbert, am I correct?" she sounded a little scary now, and Matt swallowed.

"Y-yes, ma'am."

"And how is that ego-blown, white haired menace?" she asked through gritted teeth.

"I don't know!" Matt squeaked. He tried hard not to look at the frying pan clutched in her hand. "I don't really know him that well."

"Oh!" Elizaveta's expression cleared. "Good!" she put the frying pan down and Matt heaved a sigh of relief.

"Well, Mr. Williams." she was back to her professional self. "I'm not going to lie. Just because Gilbert asked me to give you a job doesn't mean I'm going to hand it to you. You seem like a nice guy, but working for such a high-maintenance man such as Mr. Bonnefoy is no walk in the park. I don't know _what_ you're a part of, I don't _want_ to know what you're a part of, but I want you to do your job correctly. I only owe Gilbert one favor, and it is unfortunate that he would choose for me to repay him in this manner."

"I understand." Matt said quickly. "I'm...I'm a very good worker and I won't slack off and I'll be really punctual and...well...I have lived on my own for quite a while so I know how to clean and stuff like that..."

"Good, good." she extends a hand. "Your resume, please?"

Matt fumbled slightly with the papers folded in his pocket. He was glad that Arthur had the foresight to create a fake resume, complete with fabricated places of employment, and references that did not exist. Matt looked around the kitchen some more as Elizaveta studiously went through the papers. There was a clock shaped like a small, yellow bird above the stove - its tail swung with every passing second, back and forth.

"Do you have somewhere to be?" Elizaveta asked him, having looked up to see him watching the clock.

"No, no," Matt assured. "It's just...your clock. It's cute."

Elizaveta glanced at it, and her mouth twitched reluctantly. "It is cute. If not slightly ridiculous."

Matt smiled as the Hungarian woman pulled herself together, and she slid his resume back to him.

"Well, Mister Williams." she looked pretty happy. "I admit, I had misgivings, seeing as _Gilbert_ recommended you, but everything looks pretty good! You're hired - welcome to the Bonnefoy Residence!"

Matt let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, and accepted the woman's hand.

"Thank you!" he replied. "I promise, I won't let you down."

Elizaveta giggled. "See that you don't." she replied, and he couldn't tell if she was kidding.

She got up and replaced the frying pan on the stove. "Now, I guess I'll have to ring someone to give you a tour..."

There was a black phone on the wall, but as Elizaveta reached for it a man stepped into the kitchen, fixing the cuffs of his rather elaborate uniform. He had a slim, pale, elegant face with a beauty mark near his mouth and a pair of glasses on the bridge of his nose. His hair was brown and slightly wavy, with a wayward strand sticking upwards despite his pulled-together appearance.

"Elizaveta." he was looking down at his vest as he spoke, busy fiddling with the clasps. "I have Mr. Bonnefoy's dinner requests - "

"Matthew, this is my husband Roderich Edelstein," Elizaveta interrupted, and the brunette's dark eyes flitted upwards to look at Matt. "Roderich, this is Matthew Williams. I've just hired him."

Roderich gave him a once over, and Matt did the same - he was remembering the hour before Gilbert left with Ludwig to Italy. He had come by Matt's room and pressed a messily folded piece of paper into the blonde's hand.

"I want you to give this to someone," the red-eyed man had told him. "His name's Edelstein. Roderich. He's this tall guy, brunette, looks at everyone like they're shit under his feet. Trust me, you'll know him when you see him. Promise you'll give it to him?"

"S-sure." Matt had answered, and that had been that.

_Roderich Edelstein_, Matt thought to himself now as the man extended a hand towards him.

"Hello, Matthew." his hand was cool, with long, tapered fingers; musician hands. "I am the head of staff in Mr. Bonnefoy's home. If you have any questions, please direct them to me."

"I will." Matt promised as they shook hands. "I-It's very nice to meet you."

"Likewise." Roderich nodded, then said, "I'll take you on a tour of the house, now, if you're quite finished." he looked over at Elizaveta, who smiled.

"Congratulations, Matthew." she told him. "Good luck."

"Thank you." Matt replied. He turned his head as Roderich leaned over to give Elizaveta a quick kiss - then the brunette beckoned for Matt to follow him, out the kitchen door and into the hallway.

"I pride myself," Roderich began, fixing his gloves as he led the blonde through the halls, "On running a staff that are both respectful and perfectly synchronized. In all the years I have been in charge of Mr. Bonnefoy's household, there have never been any problems with discipline, manners, or work ethic. I sincerely hope," here he turned to fix Matt with a piercing stare. "That you will not be the first to disrupt my impeccable reputation."

_Oh, Jesus_. Matt saw what Gilbert meant by the brunette's attitude. "No...no sir." he replied. "I'll work really hard."

"Very good." Roderich said with a small smile, and turned swiftly down a hallway out into the sunshine.

Matt's mouth hung open. The gardens behind the Bonnefoy residence stretched out into the distance, rows of hedges and flowers creating a lush and colorful atmosphere. There was a fountain bubbling not too far away, and a few beech trees swayed high overhead, casting the grass into interwoven spots of sun and shade. Matt looked down in temporary surprise as a well-groomed Persian cat wound its way around his ankles. He watched it saunter down the sun-dappled walk and disappear behind a hedge. A few seconds later a man popped up, brushing a few leaves from his mess of curly brown hair, and picked the Persian up in his arms, muttering to it. The man had a Mediterranean shade to his skin, and his eyes were warm and sleepy. He saw them standing there and raised his hand briefly before putting the cat down and returning to his job - Matt glimpsed a pair of garden shears held in his other hand.

"That is Heracles Karpusi," Roderich explained. "He is one of our two main gardeners."

"Who is the other - " Matt started to say, but paused when a bunch of twigs came raining down on Heracles's head. The younger man paused in his job, brown eyes narrowing. An older man was under one of the beech trees, and he smiled smugly at Heracles. He was tanned as well, with a hint of stubble on his chin, and dark hair and eyes. Roderich sighed, looking weary as Heracles shouted something at the man in a language unknown to Matt.

"And _that_ is Sadiq Adnan, the other gardener." Roderich pointed out. He had a bit of a frown on his face. "You'll get used to this, both of them are very...competitive. I guess that's the word one would use."

"Little brat!" Sadiq was yelling at Heracles - the younger man reaffirmed the statement by lazily sticking out his tongue. The Persian cat skittered out of the bushes after a little songbird that was pecking at the lawn.

"As a new staff member," Roderich explained as they went back inside the villa, "You will have no fixed job to attend to. You will be making rounds in the house, helping with whatever tasks people need done. That's why it's best to introduce you to the staff so you at least know who is in charge of what."

They passed a young girl in the hall, dressed in a traditional maid's outfit, and she stopped to offer a greeting. Roderich caught her gently by the elbow.

"This is Michelle. She is a maid here, mostly completing light cleaning jobs. Michelle, this is Matthew, our new member of staff."

The girl looked even younger than Matt, with long, dark hair in two pigtails and a darkness to her skin. She curtsied cutely, and told Matt, "Please, call me 'Chelles!"

"C-call me Matt!" Matt replied, blushing as she smiled at him.

Roderich cleared his throat, and after a goodbye the two men moved on into the house.

"I forgot to mention." Roderich said coolly. "Work relationships are neither encouraged nor tolerated here."

Matt flushed redder and tried saying, "I wasn't going to - "

Roderich surprised him by chuckling. "Excuse me, I wasn't insinuating anything." he apologized. "It's always good to put that out there early on. It saves confusion and embarrassment."

Matt wondered if being married to the cook counted as a work relationship.

They continued through the rooms - beautifully designed and richly furnished spaces that made Matt's head spin. Matt kept a lookout for both "the room" they were supposed to be stealing, and the security centre. It was only when they got to the second floor that Roderich paused and gestured to a door that looked out of place in the airy corridor. This door was made of a sturdy metal engraved with a beautiful swirling pattern that reminded Matt of Indian henna, and had a keycode along with a foreboding looking lock.

"This is an absolute off-limits area for anyone except Mr. Bonnefoy." Roderich told him sternly. Matt widened his eyes in what he hoped was an innocent expression, and nodded.

"Oh, of course. Absolutely."

_So _that's_ the famous room_, Matt thought as Roderich led him on. Not three doors down, Roderich stopped and knocked on another door labeled, "_Sécurité_".

The door was wrenched open, and Matt was greeted by the sight of a young man with a bob of blonde hair and a white cap, who was...carrying a rifle slung over his shoulder.

Matt recoiled. The man blinked balefully at Roderich.

"Edelstein." he said. Roderich looked amused at the younger man's unenthusiastic greeting.

"Vash, I want you to meet Matthew. He was just hired, so if you see him, don't shoot at him."

Vash looked offended. "I'm not gonna _shoot_ at him!" he protested, as if the very idea was insulting. It was hard to think he would find it insulting, the way he was cradling that gun.

"This is Vash Zwingli." Roderich introduced. "He's Head of Security here in Mr. Bonnefoy's house."

"Pleasure." Vash intoned. "If you'll excuse me, I have to get back to work."

The door shut smartly before Matt could glimpse too much of the room beyond - all he could see was a bank of computers, lit up in the fluorescent lighting, and a young girl tapping away at keys, the ribbons in her hair practically luminous compared to the neutral surroundings.

Roderich shook his head in weary amusement, and Matt finally got up the courage to ask, "Does he actually _use_ that gun??"

"More than I would like, yes." Roderich admitted ruefully. "Well, Matthew, I think I've shown you enough. You'll introduce yourself as you come across other staff members, I presume." Roderich began to move away from Matt, explaining, "Now, I really must get down to the parlor..."

"Oh! I almost forgot, Mr. Edelstein..." the man paused as Matt dug into his pants pocket.

"I have a message from Gilbert Weillschmidt that he asked me to deliver."

Roderich took the folded piece of paper with a look of apprehension, and opened it up.

Matt didn't know what he saw first - the softening of Roderich's mouth; the flicker of annoyance that overtook his features; or the faint hint of colour that appeared under his pale skin.

Then the brunette's jaw tensed and he asked Matt, "Would you mind delivering Weillschmidt a return message for me?"

Matt shook his head, and Roderich removed a pen from somewhere in his jacket. Using a small table in the hallway, Matt waited awkwardly while Roderich wrote in quick, slanting script on the back of the paper. He folded it the opposite way, then handed it back to Matt. Waiting until the Canadian slipped the paper back into his pocket, Roderich nodded his head.

"I'll leave you here, then. Please take the rest of the day to make yourself acquainted with the house, and respond to any orders people may give you."

"Yes sir." Matt answered, and with one more backward glance Roderich moved off down the hallway. Matt waited until he could no longer hear the brunette's footsteps before hesitantly drawing the paper out of his pocket again. He was almost embarrassed of his intrusiveness as he unfolded it to see Gilbert's original message, in crude block printing:

_ARE YOU HAPPY_?

Matt frowned, and flipped the paper over. Roderich had replied with what looked like a couple of lines from a poem - trouble was, it was in German and Matt could only understand a few random words (_world_, _day_...not much else). Matt suddenly blushed. Whatever Gilbert and Roderich were talking about, it was none of his business, and he felt foolish for looking at the notes.

He had just folded up the paper again, following the lines Roderich had made, and was about to replace it in his pocket when someone asked from behind him, "_Excuse-moi_?"

Matt turned and temporarily lost the ability to speak. The man standing behind him was a taller, older gentleman with a beautiful, pointed face. A hint of scruff was visible on his chin, and he had long, vibrant blonde hair that was pulled back into a ponytail. He was wearing dark slacks that hung on his slim hips, and a tucked-in dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and unbuttoned to reveal a light, golden chest.

Matt's face grew hot. "H-hello!" he squeaked, shoving the paper into his pocket again. The man tilted his head.

"Yes, hello." his voice was smooth, a lilting French accent noticeable. "Are you new here? I do not think I have seen your face around here before."

"Oh!" Matt's hands twitched in nervousness and embarrassment. "Sorry! I'm Matthew Williams, I...I was just hired today."

"_Mathieu_." his name rolled deliciously off the man's tongue, and Matt shivered as the Frenchman took Matt's hand in his own. "_Enchanté_. I am Francis Bonnefoy."

Matt couldn't stop the surprised noise that left his mouth. "_You're_ Francis Bonnefoy?"

"_Oui_." Francis gave him a lop-sided smile. "You were expecting...someone different?"

Matt shook his head quickly. No one had told him that Francis Bonnefoy was this..._ah_.

Francis still had a hold of his hand, and Matt blushed when the Frenchman's fingers stroked across the back of his hand.

"So you are the new...servant, Mathieu?" Francis asked, and when Matt nodded, in a bit of a stupor, he smiled. "Well, I am very glad to have you working here! You are not from around here?"

Matt shook his head. "No, I - " _Damn_. What was his excuse? As he racked his brain, Francis released his hand and motioned behind him.

"If you have nothing more pressing to attend to, Mathieu, perhaps we could talk upstairs in my quarters? I would very much like to know about you."

"Oh. Okay." Matt gave him a hesitant smile, and Francis's eyes lit up.

"_Mon cher_," he purred. "I have been waiting for you to smile. You should do it more often."

Matt couldn't really find words to respond to this strange, smooth-talking man he was now working for - luckily, Francis merely put a gentle hand on his shoulder and began guiding him towards his quarters. Matt started thinking of some excuses.

* * *

Feliciano reported _this_ over a plate of the best pasta in Rome - Lovino had refused to get up yesterday morning, saying something about how he "needed sleep dammit, so just leave me alone!" Feliciano had seen Antonio in the halls and, when he had commented on Lovino's strange behavior, Antonio had looked quickly down at his hands, murmured that he just had to have patience, then hastened away from the younger Vargas sibling.

However, Feliciano could be surprisingly persuasive when he put his mind to it. Somehow managing to deal with all his brother's meetings that morning, he had caught up with Antonio and pestered him until the Spaniard relented.

Apparently Antonio was concerned that Lovino didn't like him very much. "So I'm playing hard to get!" the brunette announced cheerfully. He had read it in a magazine, he said, ("Which magazine was it?" Ludwig inquired, to which Feliciano replied, "Cosmo, I think!") and by not talking to Lovino, Antonio was convinced he would see just what the Italian's feelings for him were.

Ludwig rubbed at his temples. He knew the Spaniard enough to know that this was _not_ one of his better ideas. "Does he know that, if Lovino finds out what he's doing, he's going to have him strung up?" he asked.

"I hope so!" Feliciano cried.

"Have you talked to Lovino?" Gilbert asked, not really paying attention - the food was delicious, and it was only Ludwig's stern gaze that was preventing the red-eyed man from totally decimating his meal.

"I tried!" the little Italian sniffled - he had barely touched his pasta, and Ludwig was more alarmed than he thought was sensible over this fact.

"Lovino won't listen to me. He said that he didn't care that I wanted to talk to him, and today he came out of his room but he's just moping around, and Antonio isn't doing anything about it, and - and - "

Ludwig, not knowing what else to do, put a hand gently in Feliciano's hair. "Eat your pasta." he said. "Then when we go to your house maybe things will have gotten better."

He highly doubted that, but he couldn't think of anything more comforting, and Feliciano seemed to believe him because after a couple minutes he looked slightly cheerier and dug into his pasta with gusto.

After lunch, Feliciano's driver took them back to the house where the Vargas brothers lived.

"I have what you ordered!" Feliciano chirped as he bounded through the front door, Gilbert and Ludwig on his heels. "Just let me..."

He trailed off and Ludwig, coming to stand behind him, stared. Antonio was perched on a chair in the main foyer, intently reading an elegantly bound book. He was singing to himself softly in Spanish and was paying no mind to Lovino. The elder Italian brother was standing behind him, fists clenched so hard that they were shaking.

"Brother..." Feliciano called out, and Lovino's head snapped upwards to glare at them.

"_What_?" he snapped, grinding his teeth. "What do you _want_, Feliciano?"

"I - I - " Feliciano took a step back, apprehensive.

"Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed." Gilbert noted from behind them, and Ludwig had the urge to smack his brother over the head as Lovino's frown darkened.

"Get them out of here, Feliciano!" he ordered. When his brother didn't move, Lovino stamped his foot in a child-like manner. "Dammit!" he cried. "I don't want them in my house!"

"They're buying something from me!" Feliciano protested. "Lovi~..."

Lovino stiffened. "Don't call me that." he snapped. "No - no one is allowed to call me that!"

Ludwig vaguely remembered Antonio getting away with it several times before, but the Spaniard merely got out of his chair, stretched (Lovino looked away with an angry flush when Antonio's shirt lifted with the movement of his arms to reveal a slice of sun-drenched skin), and turned to Lovino. He bowed politely, and then left the room.

Lovino fumed. Ludwig swore that if this had been a cartoon, the Italian man would have had steam coming from his ears.

His face turned red as he shouted, "_Dammit_ Antonio, _don't ignore me_!" and sped off after the Spaniard. Feliciano looked at a loss for words.

"Lovi~!" he finally wailed. "Wait, stop, I can fix this!" and he too ran after them. Ludwig and Gilbert were left standing, stunned, in the doorway.

"Well," Gilbert didn't look too saddened at the departure of their host, and pushed past Ludwig to take in the expensive looking interior. "Might as well wait for them to come back. Where's their liquor kept, do you think?"

Ludwig heaved a sigh. He just wanted to buy some guns.

* * *

Kiku was running on very little sleep, so his eyes were heavy as he departed the taxi that had taken him to the very heart of Beijing, to a busy street crammed full of restaurants, shops, and people. So many people.

Living in Europe and America for the past few years, Kiku had forgotten about the sheer volume and density of _people_ that overwhelmed Asia's major cities, and he became momentarily disoriented before spotting the restaurant that he needed.

It was wedged in between a pharmacy and another restaurant, a nondescript shop with bad lighting but good food. Kiku pushed himself through the throngs of people and entered the restaurant - the outside noise immediately dimmed, replaced instead by the faint plucking of a pipa. The restaurant had a few patrons, but the large booth at the back was what Kiku was interested in. Four people sat on the plush emerald seats surrounding a large table full of fragrant foods.

In the centre of the booth was the man Kiku had traveled all the way to China to see. Wang Yao was a powerful and influential man who controlled most of the black market in China and specialized in elusive technology one could only find here. He had an age-less face and kept his long dark hair pulled back in an elegant ponytail. He held back the long sleeves of his red changshan as he reached delicately across the table to pluck a _jiaozi_ from a plate with his chopsticks.

On his far left was a timid looking woman in a long sleeved peach cheongsam, a pink flower tucked delicately in her long brown hair. Every so often she swept back a curl that insisted in rising up and falling in her eyes. This was Meimei, a member of Wang Yao's clan who followed him everywhere. Her eyes fell upon Kiku and she greeted him with a sweet smile.

To her right was a bositerous young man gabbing away into Wang Yao's ear. Im Yong Soo, another member, had a crop of short black hair with a rather annoying flyaway strand, and was gesturing wildly all over the place, meal forgotten. Meimei moved her cup so that the boy's hanbok sleeves did not trail into it. Kiku had no idea why they were wearing such elaborate clothing - perhaps they had just had a meeting with Western businessmen.

Wang Yao had often told him that the Westerners were more willing to listen to their propositions if they wore traditional dress. Kiku had thought it odd at the time but supposed it must work for them if they continued to do it.

To Wang Yao's right was a quiet young man who kept his eyes steadfastly set on his meal, face a blank slate. His hair was styled in a rather choppy cut and his eyebrows were a bit thick. He, too, was wearing a red changshan over brown pants. The man's name was Xiao, and Kiku knew him because he was a mole placed in Wang Yao's clan by Arthur Kirkland himself. Kirkland's enterprises often did business overseas, and Wang Yao was one of the Englishman's most profitable business partners. It was only natural for Xiao to be sent in to gather information on Wang Yao and gauge his reliability (Kiku also knew for a fact that Wang Yao had in return placed a mole in Arthur's business - Ariel, a clever little girl originally from Singapore who was much too good at blending in and sucking up).

Kiku paused a few feet from the table and bowed. "Good afternoon, Wang Yao." he said softly. "I hope I am not interrupting anything?"

Wang Yao cocked his head and smiled at the Japanese man. "Honda. No, we were just finishing lunch, aru."

"I see. If you want me to come back later - "

"That'd be cool!" Yong Soo spoke up, but Yao shushed him.

"No, please." the Chinese man rose. "I will walk you upstairs, and we can discuss the transaction, aru."

Yong Soo looked put out, but obediently shuffled aside to allow room for Yao to leave the booth. The Chinese man nodded at Kiku and together they walked towards the small staircase at the back of the restaurant. As they ascended, Kiku noticed Yao looking back at the table, particularly at Xiao, who was now talking to Meimei and holding a couple of firecrackers in his left hand, face still perfectly expressionless.

It was only when they had reached the second floor, furnished sparsely in a sort of office, that Yao whirled around to face Kiku, brow furrowing.

"How long have you been working for Kirkland, aru?" he asked icily.

Kiku tilted his head. There was no sense in lying to Yao - it would only anger the older man. "Only a couple of weeks or so." he assured. "He's asking me to do a job for him."

Yao blew a breath out his nose, slowly, regaining his calm exterior. "I did not know, aru," the Chinese man continued, "That when you left me you would be working for such a...dubious character."

Before Kiku had been recruited into Alfred's team, he had also been a part of Yao's clan. His emotional detachment and often brutal methods of persuasion had made him an asset in dangerous situations. Yao had cared for him like an older brother, though they had shared a relationship for years that was much...closer than simply a fraternal one.

It was only now, in the dimness of the upstairs office, that Kiku tentatively lifted a hand and placed it on Yao's shoulder, fingers splayed on his back, trying to feel the skin beneath the fabric. Yao didn't flinch - instead, he put his hand over Kiku's and guided it under the high collar of his changshan and down his back. Kiku was forced to step closer as his hand was pulled farther, farther down to the man's shoulder, where Kiku could feel the raised and puckered skin of a deep scar.

Kiku fought to keep his face expressionless. Five years ago, Kiku and Yao had gotten into an argument - Kiku could hardly remember what it was about, only that it was the straw that broke the camel's back on months of senseless bickering and problems. Kiku had threatened to leave, and it was the first time he had seen such a look of panic on his mentor's face. Then Yao had told him that if he _did_ leave, he would never be able to set foot in Beijing again without being killed. This had angered Kiku, who could barely remember his own country and considered Beijing to be his home. At that time they had been in the same office they were standing in now - Kiku's katana had hung from a spot on the wall, and Kiku had taken it down in a brazen attempt to barter.

Wang Yao was not one to be intimidated by a young Japanese man with a sword he had never seen him use, and had tried to rationalize with him. Kiku was beyond hearing. He felt betrayed and he felt angry. Later on, he would tell himself that he never meant to strike out at Yao with his katana; that he was merely acting on instinct when he carved a gash in the man's back leading from shoulder to hip. But Kiku knew that he had meant it. He had been brought up and trained in fighting, had been told that where words failed, action was needed. Yao had crumpled to the floor. Kiku, torn between concern for his mentor and fear at what he had done, had fled and taken the next plane to America.

It took Kiku three years to apologize. He had expected threats, he had expected rejection, he had expected Yao to order his murder the second he returned to Beijing. He had not expected quiet acceptance. And that was what hurt the Japanese man the most - where _Kiku_ had foolishly struck out with a sword, _Yao_ had forgiven. No, he had not forgiven _entirely_: Kiku knew his mentor and knew that Yao still treated him with a level of cool detachment. But the Chinese man had been extraordinarily kind by letting him order equipment when he needed it, and did not react in disgust when Kiku dropped by to visit.

Now, in the office where everything had gone downhill so quickly, Kiku Honda dropped his head and whispered, "Please, forgive me, Yao. I have so much regret."

Yao smiled sadly and removed Kiku's hand from his shoulder-blade. He gathered the small, pale hand in his own and pressed on it sympathetically.

"It has taken the wound five years to fully heal, Honda." he murmured. "But it will take _me_ much, much longer."

When Kiku flinched, Yao bent to press his lips chastely on the younger man's forehead. "But that does not mean I will never get there." he hummed, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth, and Kiku dared to lift his head to meet the Chinese man's eyes.

"Now," Wang Yao straightened up, and let the smile spread kindly across his face. "Your equipment."

* * *

_END CHAPTER FIVE_

_

* * *

_

**Author's Notes:** Haha, Xiao = Hong Kong. Why? Because...I...am not good at naming people. Also, Ariel = Singapore, mostly because the name Ariel means "Lion of God" and the name "Singapore" comes from Malay meaning "Lion-city". YEAH, I SEE WHAT I DID THERE.

Also...this _is_ an AU, meaning that Kiku striking out at Yao with a sword does not equal the brutality between the nations of Japan and China, though it does represent it. I'm sorry if that offends some people - I know that horrible, horrible things happened in those nation's histories and I am not trying to make light of those events. But I needed that aspect of "you've done something to me that I cannot yet forgive you for" in their relationship and, well...it's not often that your "younger brother"/protégé/romantic interest slashes you in the back with a katana. Would put some awkwardness in the relationship for sure.

Lastly - the poem that Roderich writes to Gilbert is the last bit of Ludwig Uhland's _Frühlingsglaube_ (Faith in Spring), and it goes like this:

_"Die Welt wird schöner, mit jedem Tag_

_Man weiß nicht, was noch werden mag_

_Das Blühen will nicht enden._

_Es blüht das fernste, tiefste Tal:_

_Nun, armes Herz, vergiss der Qual!_

_Nun muss sich alles, alles wenden."_

Which, translated, means:

_"The world becomes more beautiful with each day_

_One does not know what may yet happen_

_The blooming doesn't want to end_

_The farthest, deepest valley blooms:_

_Now, poor dear, forget the pain!_

_Now everything, everything must change."_

It'll become more important later. Anyways, thanks for reading, sorry it was kind of obnoxiously long and non-Francis-ish and full of boring details that you don't really know why I included, but I hope you sort of enjoyed it nonetheless!


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note:** Haha, and then when Francis appears, he still appears briefly. I am the worst liar ever! Hopefully you'll forgive me - Francis is a difficult character for me to write, simply because he's so interesting and (in my opinion) nuanced. I hope as this story progresses, the character interactions will make sense. Sorry for the late update. I will try to update quicker next time and I hope to have both a "filler" chapter (I want to wrap up the Lovino business) and Chapter Seven. Thank you, as always, for reading!

* * *

Francis's "quarters" were at the very south of the house, and Francis went ahead of Matt to open up the curtains. He keeps the lights off; Matt understands. The day is so warm that it would just make everything hotter. The sunlight throws the room into a mixture of light and shadows - Matt can see a small area of grouped chaises and armchairs around a coffee table; the rest is a bedroom, a four poster bed dominating the latter end, with a glossy chest of drawers and a large mirror next to the window and a door that Matt supposes is a closet. It has a similar design as the picture Matt saw of the artefact room - the colors are rich red and gold, and it has a Renaissance feel to it. Matt blushes when he sees the bed, and instantly berates himself for looking at it first.

_Why_ didn't anyone tell him his boss was going to be so hot?

_Why_ didn't anyone tell him he'd be trying to fool such a charming man?

The small sitting area had a grand view out the large windows, outside which was a small balcony overlooking the gardens. There was a small table near one of the chairs, on which sat an assortment of bottles and a couple of crystal cut glasses.

"Please, sit down!" Francis waved at the chairs as he traversed over to the small table.

Matt sat down hesitantly, gazing out the windows. Francis returned with two glasses of amber liquid.

"O-oh, Mr. Bonnefoy, I'm not sure I should be drinking..." he began, but Francis smoothly slipped it into his hand.

"One drink won't hurt you, Mathieu." the Frenchman chuckled, before perching himself on the opposite chair.

"So, tell me, _mon cher_," Francis began. "What brings you to France?"

"Uh, well." Matt began nervously, not wanting to screw up his lie. Francis crossed his legs and waiting expectantly.

"My...my brother lives in Marseille. I've always wanted to go to France, so I accepted his offer to stay with him until I could get a place of my own."

"Ah, and where are you originally from?" Francis questioned.

"Ottawa." Matt replied. Francis looked pleased.

"_Parlez-vous français_?" he questioned, and Matt blushed.

"_Ah, oui_," he answered. "_Un petit peu_. B-but my accent must be horrible..."

"_Non, non_," Francis waved his protests away. "I have always found Canadian accents to be quite...delectable. In either language."

Matt flushed. "T-thank you." he said, and then mentally kicked himself._ Stupid! Why'd you thank him_?

"You're welcome." Francis was wearing an enigmatic grin as he studied Matt. A wind blew the tree branches outside and cast sun across his face. Matt averted his eyes.

He didn't understand. Matt had never paid much attention to girls throughout school - he attributed it to being a shy bookworm, always in the shadow of his more popular brother. But it certainly put his sexuality into question when he couldn't take his eyes off the Frenchman in front of him.

"S-so, Mr. Bonnefoy..." he fished for a question. "Did you always live here?"

"In the south of France? No." Francis shook his head. "I used to be an urban-dweller...Paris, Toulouse, Nice, places like that. But a friend recommended I invest in a villa in the countryside, so I did. It was one of the best decisions of my life."

"Oh!" Interest peaked, Matt leaned forward. "Did you enjoy living in Nice? I've always wanted to go there!"

"Have you?" Francis chuckled, and copied Matt's movement. "Well, you'll have to go while you're here. Simply beautiful city, wonderful night life...if you'd like, I'll write down some places you should go in the city."

"That...that would be great, Mr. Bonnefoy, thank you!" Matt gushed. Francis's brow creased and he clicked his tongue.

"Please, Mathieu, please call me Francis." the Frenchman purred. Matt tilted his head, brushing away the hair that fell into his eyes.

"All right, Francis." he smiles and dips his head to sip at the liquid in the glass. It is brandy of some sort, and Matt tries not to wince as it burns on the way down - he doesn't want to insult Francis.

Francis is studying him intently. "You look so familiar, Mathieu." he told him. "Have we met before? Perhaps you have been staying in Marseilles long?"

"O-oh, no. I just arrived." Matt panicked a bit. Had he maybe seen Alfred walking around the streets of Marseille? That would be impossible, he rationed, since Alfred had arrived on the same flight as him. "A couple of days ago, I mean. And I've been busy unpacking and looking for jobs, so I haven't had much time to look around."

"_Quel dommage_!" Francis laughed, and easily let the matter go. As they talked, Matt felt himself relaxing. After hearing the other men talking about Francis Bonnefoy, he had been expecting the worst - some crazy French tyrant, maybe.

But Francis was a handsome, almost too-charming man who kept his sole attention on Matt as they talked (something Matt wasn't used to - his brother was always sporadically going off on other topics, and even at home he was something of a fly on the wall, easily passed over), and guided the topics from weather to cooking to travel. He was well-versed, knowledgeable, and funny; Matt had to laugh at the look on his face when he told Francis that he'd never been to Spain - or Germany - or Italy - or any other exotic locale.

"I went to Ohio once." Matt offered, to which Francis wrinkled his nose and asked, "What is an Ohio?"

"_Mon ami_, you cannot continue living like this!" the Frenchman finally announced, and reached forward to grab Matt's hand in one dramatic swoop. Matt froze, feeling his face heat up.

"If you will permit," Francis continued, not at all noticing the way Matt was turning red under his touch. "I would like to take you around Marseilles some day - there is the opera house to see and I know some very fine places to eat. Also, we can go to the Vieux-Port, and the Abbey and the Cathedral..."

"O-okay." Matt agreed quickly, before he could stop himself. He briefly regretted it as the Frenchman's eyes lit up.

"Excellent! You will not regret it. But, oh..." Francis checked his wristwatch. "I did not mean to keep you, _mon cher_."

"Oh, no!" Matt blurted out, and Francis looked amused. "I mean, you didn't keep me, I very much enjoyed talking to you."

"I am the same." Francis rose gracefully from his chair and took hold of Matt's hand. "It was very nice to meet you, Mathieu." he said, and leaned down to kiss Matt on both cheeks. Matt's eyes widened.

"T-that's how you say goodbye in France, e-eh?" he spluttered, pulling away from the Frenchman. Francis chuckled.

"You _Canadiens_, _tu es mignon, mon cher_."

Someone knocked on the door and Francis bid them enter, his eyes still trained on Matt. Matt was suddenly aware of how strange this must seem to an outsider - the boss and the servant alone in the bedroom.

Chelles entered the room timidly. "Matthew?" she asked. "There's a man outside asking after you."

"Right!" Matt groaned. "I forgot. My friend said he'd pick me up." he explained apologetically to Francis. "I'm sorry, I didn't know if I'd get the job so I couldn't give him an estimation on time."

"_Pas de problème_." the Frenchman waved his apology off. "Just please tell your friend, for next time, that you start work at nine and you get off work at six so he doesn't come for you early."

"Of course." _Nine through six!_ Matt thought as Chelles motioned for him to follow her. _I better be getting paid well for this_!

It took Matt a moment to realize that Francis was following them. As they made their way downstairs, Matt became faintly aware of the sound of a piano. The music was coming from a room downstairs, and Francis paused at the doorway, putting a hand on Matt's shoulder to stop him. Matt glanced into the room - it was a sort of old-fashioned parlor with a grand piano sitting in the middle of the room. At the piano was Roderich with a peaceful look on his face, fingers (_musician hands, I was right_, Matt thought) flying over the ivory keys, eyes closed in concentration. There was another door on the far side of the parlor and Matt could see Elizaveta half hidden in the doorway, a soft smile on her face as she watched her husband play.

"He's really good!" Matt whispered, awestruck, to Francis. The Frenchman looked amused.

"He studied at a wonderful music school in Vienna." Francis whispered back, putting a hand on Matt's back and drawing him close so their talk wouldn't interrupt the piano piece.

"Who's the piece by?" was Matt's question, momentarily forgetting how close they were to each other.

Francis tilted his head to listen, and Matt was transfixed by the crease of the Frenchman's brow.

"It's Mozart, for sure." Francis concluded. "Probably from the Piano Concerto No. 24 in C minor, Roderich has always been fond of that one."

"It's the Allegro, Mr. Bonnefoy, you are quite correct." came Roderich's soft voice. The Austrian had finished and slowly slipped his gloves back on. "Forgive me, I was just finishing up."

Francis looked amused as Matt spluttered, "You...you're very good!"

Roderich looked a little proud of himself. "Thank you, Matthew."

"Your friend's still outside." came Chelles voice from outside the parlor door as Roderich turned to close the piano. Matt cast one more glance at the grand piano and then obligingly went with Chelles to the front door.

Outside was the familiar rental car, but Ivan was not inside - instead Matt recognized Eduard, the serious, bespectacled servant at Arthur's London home, brother of Raivis, leaning on the hood of the car. He was checking his watch, and looked up when Matt called out to him.

"Thanks, Chelles." Matt turned to the pigtailed girl. "I lost track of time."

"No problem, it's my job." Chelles responded demurely, and chanced a glance at him out from under her eyelashes. "I see you've met Monsieur Bonnefoy." she added.

Matt averted his eyes as the girl giggled. "Ah, yeah. He seems nice. Do you like working for him?"

"Oh, he is _very_ nice." Chelles intoned with a meaningful glance in Matt's direction, leaning in to whisper, "I think he likes you."

"Well..." Matt trailed off, unsure how to react to the girl's response, when Eduard came up the steps, looking a little irritated.

"Matthew." he said. "We have to go, we're going to be late."

Matt winced. "Sorry." he apologized and, with a last goodbye to Chelles, he followed the tall man back to the car. Raivis was in the backseat so Matt slipped into the passenger side. As they pulled away from the house, Matt looked up to see Francis standing casually in the doorway of the house next to Chelles. He was talking to the dark-skinned maid but his eyes were fixed on the car as they disappeared down the driveway.

When they were out of sight, Matt addressed Eduard. "I didn't know you guys were here!" he said, surprised. "It's nice to see you again."

Raivis looked back at Matt and smiled. "It's nice to see you too!" he said. "Mr. Kirkland is staying in his villa, and his primary staff flies down with him when he is on an extended stay."

"Really?" Matt felt like a fish out of water. "Is that where we're going now?"

"Yes." that was Eduard, who was fiddling with the knobs on the car radio. "Mr. Kirkland sent for your brother and his friend in Marseilles. They brought your luggage with them to Mr. Kirkland's place."

Matt was silent. "I'm sorry for keeping you waiting," he finally apologized. Eduard smiled in the rearview mirror.

"It's no trouble. You'll have to excuse my behavior, I don't travel well and they sent us to pick you up almost immediately after we landed."

"Sure." Matt felt uncomfortable at Eduard's formal talk, and settled back against the car seat. Raivis looked nervous.

"A-are you hungry?" he asked. "We could stop for food."

Matt shook his head. "No thank you. Hey," he paused and examined the boy. "You're not as shaky anymore."

Indeed, the boy looked less nervous, didn't shiver as much and had a lessened stutter. Raivis gave him a nervous laugh, but didn't say anything and the conversation came to an abrupt, awkward halt. Uncomfortable, Matt looked down at his fingers, then up at the back of Eduard's head.

How much did Eduard and Raivis _know_, Matt wondered? He remembered the conversation between Toris and Alfred his first night in London - from what he could tell, Toris was aware of what Alfred was doing. Were Eduard and Raivis the same?

Matt didn't know how to ask them. He opened his mouth at the same time as Raivis turned again, his eyebrows creased with worry and maybe some sympathy.

"It's okay, Mister Williams. " he said softly. "We understand."

Matt couldn't see Eduard's face, as he was checking something on the dashboard. The radio came alive in a crackle of static.

"Thank you." Matt said, and felt more soothed than he had in days. The three men drove in silence as the noise on the radio became more distinguishable.

"_Bonjour et bienvenue à Radio Marseilles. C'est 17h30 et le temps.._."

* * *

Arthur's villa, though slightly smaller than Francis's, was located in an area with more trees, which Matt actually preferred. It gave the area a peaceful, shaded feel. Eduard and Raivis left him at the front door, saying that they had a bit more work to do before retiring.

Matt was left to wander around until he found someone. That someone was Arthur, dressed in clothing that more favoured the dry French climate. He greeted the Brit cordially.

"Why did you come down here to France with us, Mr. Kirkland?" he asked curiously once the polite conversation between them had lulled. The man shot him a cross look.

"I do not pay you to gather information on _me_, Mister Williams." he scowled. Matt had to hide a smile. Despite how bristly the tawny haired man seemed initially, it was hard for Matt to take him seriously at times. He had seen how Arthur and Alfred bickered like children, and Arthur did not seem like a cruel man, just very..._uppity_. Even now, in the silence that followed his comment, Matt could see a sheepish expression overtaking the British man's features.

"I do apologize." he said finally. "My headache got the best of me. It's a rather...complicated answer, I'm afraid." he smiled at Matt, a smile that was more weary than his usual one.

"Francis and I were schoolmates." he explained. "We met in secondary but were never introduced until we attended the same university. We developed a rivalry." Arthur's face softened fractionally as he recounted this. "We were both such opposite personalities, we did not hit it off at all. I remember, we used to play pranks on each other all the time -risked getting _expelled_ half the time, but we didn't care. We came from rich families, we were young and arrogant, we could have cared less about our educations at the time, quite frankly."

"That sounds like Alfred and I in high school," Matt admitted with a weak laugh. Arthur paused.

"Really?" he asked. A flicker of interest crossed his features. Matt nodded.

"Yes. Well, Alfred usually pulled the pranks. I...I helped. I wasn't really good at carrying them out. But yes, Alfred was quite the troublemaker when we were younger."

Arthur didn't say anything, though Matt saw a new sort of smile tugging at the older man's lips. One of fondness, and Matt cocked his head, wondering. Arthur met his gaze and hurriedly cleared his throat.

"Well, you may as well accompany me to dinner, Mister Williams..." Arthur paused, and then let his lips curled into one of his more genuine smiles. "...Matthew, I mean."

"Yes sir." Matt nodded, meeting Arthur's smile with one of his own.

The dining room was at the back of the house, a smaller room set for a fewer amount of people than the more extravagant house back in London - Arthur must not be used to guests in France, which meant he usually came here to get away. Matt and Arthur chatted over trivial things as they waited for the rest of their party to arrive - Matt told Arthur about Kumajirou, and his apartment back home. This seemed to give Arthur a flashback of nostalgia and he talked enthusiastically (if not with a bit of embarrassment), about how when he was a lad, and had wanted a pet so badly he would think up imaginary friends for himself.

Matt couldn't help but laugh. "You were wealthy but you couldn't afford a pet?" he asked softly. Arthur rolled his eyes, flushing.

"My parents were allergic." he admitted as Alfred came waltzing in through the dining room door, face bright and cheerful. "Evenin' all!" he chirped, pausing to give Matt's shoulder a friendly squeeze. "How was it, Matty?"

"Good!" Matt told him. Ivan slipped in after him silently - for such a big man, he moved pretty gracefully. "I, uh, got the job - "

"Obviously!" Alfred snorted. "What'd I tell you, huh? Everything's workin' out fine."

"Don't get ahead of yourself." Arthur said shortly, leaning away from Matt and busying himself with smoothing down the tablecloth. "I don't want this to fail because you've gotten too cocky."

Alfred snorted again and plopped himself in the seat next to Matt. "Relax, Artie!" he waved a hand around in the air flippantly. "It'll be fine."

Arthur grumbled but no more was said. Toris came in to help unload the food and then left the four of them alone again.

"When are the others arriving?" Matt asked as he looked dubiously at the sauce-covered meal in front of him. Alfred was surreptitiously dousing his with salt when Arthur looked away.

"Gilbert and Ludwig will be here in a couple days; Kiku says he may even arrive before them. Yao has been very prompt with his order." Arthur responded.

"So, Matthew." Ivan began, spearing some vegetables with his fork. "What did you do today at Bonnefoy's?"

"I got a tour of the hosue," Matt responded quietly, meeting the big man's violet eyes. "I, uh, met some of the staff. Then I ran into Fr - Mr. Bonnefoy - "

"You what." Instantly Arthur's green eyes were on him, and Matt recoiled slightly.

"I...met Mr. Bonnefoy?" he repeated. "He was very nice, he invited me up to his quarters to talk - "

" - And have a drink, oh _I bet he did_." Arthur finished for him, skin going an awkward shade of red. Alfred quickly took a drink from his water. Matt furrowed his brow. Ivan cheerfully looked on.

"I'm sorry, is that bad?" the Canadian asked in confusion. Arthur snorted.

"Let me tell you something Matthew. Bonnefoy is very charming and he is very eager to please. If you do not keep your guard up and treat him with distant respect this whole job's going to go down the toilet. He _seems_ nice, oh yes he does, but that man knows what he's doing and he's not afraid to do it. So take my advice, and keep it professional."

"I wasn't - " Matt protested, cheeks flaming. Why did everyone keep _assuming_ things like that??

" - Not even remotely friendly either, Matthew." Arthur was glaring at him with all the force of an angry parent.

The _last_ thing Matt needed was another parent. "Oh yeah, I'm really going to keep my job if I start acting like that." he muttered, but unfortunately it was heard by the rest of the table.

"Excuse me?" that was Arthur, incredulous. Matt remembered the British man telling him when they had first met that he hoped his attitude was better than Alfred's. _I wonder what he thinks now_...

"Matty!" Even Alfred sounded shocked.

"I agree with Matthew." Ivan was the last to speak up, in an almost falsely sweet voice. The three turned to stare at him - even Matt was a bit shocked. Not that he was complaining. At least _someone_ was on his side.

"If Matthew acts distant, Bonnefoy will be less inclined to trust him. You needn't worry - " Ivan shot a wide grin at Matt. "I am sure Matthew can handle himself just fine."

"You say that now..." Alfred grumbled into the bread basket. Ivan blinked, a bemused expression sliding across his features.

"Now what could that mean, I wonder." the Russian hummed, and as Alfred turned his head to retort, Arthur cleared his throat.

"All right, you two, enough! It's chilly enough in here without you two starting a Cold War! As for you, Matthew - " Arthur glanced at him. "Just be careful. As I said, I've known Bonnefoy for a long time, and I think I know how he operates. As long as you don't lose sight of your goal..."

"Oh, I'm pretty sure I won't be able to do that." Matt laughed bitterly. _That's the whole reason I'm here, isn't it_? Arthur looked a bit caught off guard.

"Yes, well..." he nodded awkwardly and turned back to his food. Matt had never before, in his life, actually ruined an entire dinner party (_Alfred_ had, but that was when they were little and it had involved a space alien suit), but the silence that descended over the table was obvious proof that Matt's argument with Arthur had brought the mood down. Eventually Matt had picked at his food enough to make it look like he had eaten something, and he quickly got to his feet, excusing himself.

When the Canadian had left, Alfred fixed Arthur with an accusing stare. "You really didn't have to go that far." he said.

Arthur delicately massaged the bridge of his nose. "Not _now_, Alfred." he ordered. Alfred rolled his eyes.

"Matthew is very aggressive when he wants to be. I am surprised." Ivan announced.

"I'm not." Arthur snorted, thick eyebrows pulling themselves downwards over his green eyes. "I've seen who he's related to."

The affronted look on Alfred's face signaled dessert.

* * *

Gilbert, after having sufficiently drank enough alcohol to make him forget about that horrendous flight, set off into the Vargas twin's house to find either a bed, some company, or their hosts. In that order. Ludwig had gone off too, though Gilbert was pretty sure his main priority was Feliciano.

What luck then, thought the red-eyed man, that he should stumble upon _both_ brothers, together, in the same room, talking about people Gilbert knew. Specifically, Ludwig and Antonio. Gilbert, who considered himself a master of eaves-dropping, flattened himself against the wall of the corridor, and listened.

"...And he's just a _stupid idiot_ anyways so why should I care??" Lovino was yowling in the tone that Gilbert knew the older twin used only when he was upset or lying.

"No, no~" that was Feliciano, always the peacemaker (or peace seeker - Feliciano would rather run _away_ from confrontation when he could). The younger twin sounded really upset. "Antonio's just confused, Lovi..."

"Yeah, _confused in the head_!" Lovino snapped. There was a sudden violent rustling from within the room. Feliciano clicked his tongue and said something in lilting Italian.

"He's confused about _you_ Lovi, he said so."

There was silence. Then:

"_Bastardo_!" Lovino erupted, and Feliciano gave a weak cry as a scuffle erupted in the room. "He'll talk to _you_ but not to _me_?! _Chigi_!"

"Ve~ brother, wait!" Feliciano whimpered, and after a few seconds there was no more commotion. "He...I made him tell me, he wasn't going to. He thought if he didn't pay attention to you, you would tell him your true feelings..."

"_Bastardo_." Lovino said again, this time in a more defeated tone. "I thought he knew...I thought it was obvious."

"Not to him it's not!" came Feliciano's worried voice. "Brother, you _know_ Antonio!"

Gilbert was surprised when Lovino actually _snickered_. "Yeah, the idiot's got too thick of a head." he muttered fondly.

"Ve~! You see?" Feliciano sounded pleased. "You should tell him how you feel!"

"_WH-WHAT_?" the fondness had disappeared. "_Chigigi_! Wh-what is there to tell? It's not like I'm particularly fond of him _anyways_, and besides_ I like girls_!"

Feliciano laughed, and Lovino started yelling in Italian.

"Okay, well how about _you_, then!" Lovino had his pouting voice on, and Gilbert could just imagine the elder Vargas puffing up like a tomato. "Hypocrite, you won't tell that potato bastard how you feel!"

_Potato bastard_? Gilbert wondered as Feliciano made a small noise.

"_Fratello_..." Feliciano sounded uneasy. "Don't bring things like that u - "

"Well, it's true, isn't it?" Lovino demanded. "You like that stupid German bastard and you don't even have the guts to tell him! And here you are telling _me_ what to do!" After a moment, Lovino backpedalled, "N-not that this is the same thing of course! It's not like I love Antonio or anything! I like girls! But _you_ like that younger Weilschmidt, don't you?"

Gilbert cocked his head and had to keep from laughing as he heard Feliciano laugh nervously.

"Ve, Lovino, I tell Germany I like him all the time!"

"Yeah." his brother snorted. "But not in the way it counts."

There was silence. "I - I'm gonna go find Germany so that we can finish the transaction." Feliciano said softly in a tone that was very unlike Feliciano. "_Buona notte_, Lovi."

"Hn." Lovino grunted, and Gilbert tore himself away from the wall as Feliciano came 'round the corner.

"Oh!" Feliciano's eyes looked dangerously shiny, but in an instant his usual smile was back on. "Gilbert, hello! Sorry for running off!"

"Hey, it's okay squirt." Gilbert chuckled weakly. Awkwardly, he reached out to pat the Italian's head. "You okay?"

"_Buono_!" Feliciano readily replied, though he looked anything but. "I'm going to go find Germany. Do you know where he is?"

"Ah, no, we split up so we could find _you_." Gilbert shrugged apologetically, and Feliciano's face fell.

"_Mi dispiac_e!" he wailed. "I'm a terrible host! I'll go find Germany and apologize! _Buona notte_, _buona notte_!"

"_Gute nacht_." Gilbert laughed as he watched the Italian run off, crying "GERMANY, GERMANY!" every so often.

When Gilbert walked past the door of the room he had just eavesdropped in, Lovino was staring at him with a look that could sink ships. Gilbert quickened his pace.

"Well, this is interesting." he muttered to himself as he found an empty room to make a phone call in. "My little brother's found himself an admirer!" Chuckling to himself, he dialed a number on his cell phone and pressed it to his ear.

The voice that answered was thick and not impressed. "Weilschmidt, it is not good time for your hello call." came Ivan's growling voice. Gilbert rolled his eyes. The man had a tendency to lose his English when he was half asleep.

"Yeah, sorry grouchy bear, but I need to talk to Matt. He still up?"

"Matthew?" Ivan seemed to perk up at the name. "I will check. You will give me one second?" Gilbert listened patiently to the sound of static, to the faint sound of doors opening and closing; then, Ivan's far away voice cooing, "Matthew, wake up! I have call for you." and the answering, "I-Ivan? What time is it, I - _hey_, get off me!"

"I have him here." Ivan told Gilbert cheerfully. "One moment."

"Hey kid!" Gilbert chuckled into the phone when Matt had greeted him blearily. "What's up?"

"Well, I _was_ sleeping..." the Canadian muttered. "Ivan, get _off_..."

"He's like an overexcited puppy, _Liebling_, you'll have to give him a few squirts with a spray bottle or something." Gilbert told him flippantly.

"I'll keep that in mind." Matt muttered sourly, adding away from the receiver. "Seriously, Ivan, don't lie down and go to sleep! And move, I need my glasses...there. What do you want, Gilbert?"

"Can't I just want to talk to you?" Gilbert asked cheekily.

"No." was Matt's blank reply. "Not when I'm _sleeping_ and you're in Italy doing supposedly important stuff."

"Hey, I _am_ doing important stuff!" Gilbert protested. "We're just having a...domestic dispute."

"Oh?" Matt sounded vaguely interested.

"Yeah, these Italian guys are a riot, I'll tell you more when you're less of a grumpy-pants." Ignoring Matt's snort, Gilbert pressed on. "Listen, you deliver my message today or what?"

"Oh! Yeah, that." Gilbert heard fumbling on the other end of the line. "He wrote you a reply back, though, it's in German..."

Gilbert's breath caught in his throat. "Read me the first line." he insisted.

"I can't read German!" Matt protested.

"Just read it!" Gilbert repeated. "Please. It's important to me." his tone must of been desperate enough, because Matt cleared his throat awkwardly.

"All right..._Die Welt wird schöner, mit jedem Tag_ - "

"Thanks." something had lodged itself in Gilbert's throat, and it wasn't just because of Matt's pronunciation. "That's enough. I know what he sent me."

"Oh, okay." Matt sounded confused. "Is it a poem?"

"...Yeah." Gilbert replied. "It's a...poem about change."

"Oh."

"Yeah, so, I'd better get back to business!" Gilbert crowed, breaking the silence. "Ivan's a snuggler, so you might want to get him outta your bed before shit hits the fan! Later _Liebling_! _Ciao_!"

"He's a _what_? How do you know th - " Gilbert hung up the phone before Matt could finish.

The red eyed man didn't do anything for a while, staring at the wall adjacent to him, hands clasped under his knee. Finally he chuckled to himself.

"That fucking Edelstein." he muttered, shaking his head.

"I'll have to go say hello when I get back."

* * *

_END CHAPTER SIX_

* * *

**Author's Note:** Germany doesn't have a human surname (that I can find), so I'm going to give him his brother's surname D:


	7. Chapter 7 OMAKE Vargas Version

**O.M.A.K.E.** - **O**h** M**y, **A**nother **K**ooky **E**xtra

**Author's Note:** This is an...omake? Is that what this is? (ignorance)

Whatever it is, it's an extra chapter. The Vargas brothers will not be in the story for a while after this chapter, though Feliciano may make an appearance later on. After this chapter the original storyline will resume.

* * *

Lovino was mad. No, not mad. He was furious - at Antonio, at Feliciano, at those damn German bastards who had chosen the _perfect_ time to barge into his home.

How _dare_ Antonio ignore him? He was the goddamn boss, the next Mafioso! Antonio _worked_ for him, the fucker!

And Feli! Telling him such stupid stuff - scowling, Lovino wondered if his brother had actually run off after that blonde-haired German idiot and what they were talking about right now.

All thoughts ceased as Lovino paused at Antonio's bedroom door, mercifully shut so he could gather himself before confronting the bastard. Lovino had always thought that he would be better off without that cheerful, idiotic Spaniard (whenever the thought crossed his mind to _fire_ Antonio, though, he'd always decide to give him _one more chance_). But ever since Antonio had stopped talking to him, Lovino felt weird - like his throat was too tight, like he had been spun around until he was disoriented. He'd taken the day off because he thought he'd been sick but at dinner when Antonio had continued to keep his big mouth shut, the feeling had persisted and Lovino had felt a great urge to throw his fork at the Spaniard's unsmiling, _strangely forlorn_ face.

Anger fueling a burst of adrenaline, Lovino stormed noisily into Antonio's room, throwing the door closed behind him.

"You!" he barked, and immediately afterwards began spluttered in embarrassment.

Antonio was standing over by his dresser, rifling through the drawers. His suit hung on the door of the closet, and a pair of jeans and a black shirt were lying carelessly on the bed. Antonio was only wearing a pair of boxers, and Lovino quickly averted his eyes.

Antonio stared quizzically at him, mute as ever. Lovino pointed a finger at him, the tips of his ears burning.

"I - I won't let you leave until you apologize for ignoring me." the Italian muttered.

Antonio laughed, the first sound Lovino had heard out of him in nearly two days, and the Italian's heart ached curiously in his chest before he squashed the feeling down. Then the Spaniard turned from Lovino, missing the way the Italian's eyes followed his hips (not that he was looking at Antonio's _hips_, Lovino reasoned quickly to himself, he had just happened to look down there and he didn't want that perverted Spaniard taking it the wrong way!). Lovino waited impatiently until the older man was fully dressed.

"Well?" he snapped. "As your boss, I order you to apologize to me!"

The curly-haired man's lips quirked upwards, and he shook his head. Fuming, Lovino snapped without thinking, "Well, then maybe you don't want your job anymore!"

Antonio's face fell and a sharp jab of guilt hit Lovino in the midsection. "I mean...I didn't..." he tried, but Antonio had already turned back to the dresser. Lovino had the sudden urge to run up and hug the man around the middle, but quickly scowled. What a childish thing to think!

When Antonio turned back to him, he was holding a scrap of paper and a pen. He showed one side of the paper at Lovino, who peered at it quizzically.

_I don't want to apologize to my boss_, it said. Antonio raised his eyebrows and flipped the paper over.

_I want to apologize to Lovino_

Lovino didn't know whether to hit him or hug him. "Well, I'm waiting, then." he muttered sourly. The Spaniard's eyes lit up.

"I'm sorry, Lovi." he said earnestly, and that low, calm voice was the best thing Lovino had heard in _days_. "I just wanted to see if you liked me."

"If I liked..." Lovino fumed. "That's the stupidest thing you've done yet! Now I'm just pissed off at you!"

Antonio looked bewildered. "But I said I was sorry!" he whined.

"_Ma che sei scemo_?!" Lovino hit him on the shoulder and ignored the Spaniard's annoyed look. "Saying sorry's not good enough!"

The Italian was so busy berating him, he didn't notice the sly look that overtook Antonio's features until the older man said, "Okay, Lovi..."

Then a tanned hand slid across Lovino's shoulders, drawing the shorter man closer. Antonio leaned down until their noses were brushing.

"Wh - " Lovino stared, wide eyed, as the Spanish man's eyes darted playfully under dark lowered lashes. "What are you doing?"

Antonio tilted his head in question - the tip of his nose bumped into Lovino's cheek. "I'm saying sorry." he said simply, and before Lovino could say anything else, Antonio kissed him.

For once in his life, Lovino was speechless. Antonio's lips were warm and soft against his and as the Italian shifted closer Antonio's other arm reached out to wrap itself around his waist. Lovino put his hand on that shifting arm, to pull it towards him or push it away he didn't know, but when his lips parted and Antonio tentatively pressed his tongue against Lovino's teeth, Lovino's eyes snapped open and he broke apart, pushing Antonio a bit too violently away from him.

The Spaniard didn't look too offended - his face had a bit of colour in it and his eyes were beautifully bright. They stood there, staring at each other. When Lovino didn't start chewing Antonio out, the curly-haired man stepped back towards Lovino, put his hands on his shoulders and kissed Lovino soundly on the lips. He drew back a fraction, hardly believing Lovino's complacency; then kissed him a third time, softer this time, near the corner of Lovino's mouth.

The short Italian was shaking, balling his hands into fists. Suddenly he grabbed onto Antonio's sleeves, halting the Spaniard's retreat.

"Wait, I..." he shuffled his feet awkwardly, drawing his eyes away from Antonio.

Antonio smiled. "Don't worry." he soothed. "I forgive you too, Lovi!"

"B-bastard!" Lovino snapped weakly, clutching tighter to Antonio's shirt. "I w-wasn't gonna say that!"

"Sure, Lovi." Antonio smiled, and tried to kiss him again - Lovino pushed his hand in between their mouths.

"_Ch-chigi_! I still haven't forgiven you, you know!" he tried.

"Aw, Lovi, do you just want me to kiss you again?" Antonio teased, and chuckled when Lovino smacked him on the back of the head. Still chuckling, the Spaniard drew a struggling Lovino into an embrace, twining his arms around the Italian.

"I'll just hug you." he declared, and Lovino tilted his head so that Antonio couldn't see his red face.

"You...don't think I've let you off the hook!" he grumbled into Antonio's chest. He felt the Spaniard's chest reverberate with laughter.

"I know, Lovi. Thank you."

"Bastard."

* * *

Ludwig was in the guest room he usually occupied when he came to stay at Feliciano's house, reading a book on Germany's military history, when Feliciano went running past in the halls yelling, "GERMANY!"

Ludwig groaned, then got up off the bed. Opening the door he barked, "Feliciano! I'm in here!"

"Oh~!" Feliciano practically turned on his heel, trotting back down the hall. "Germany, hello!"

Ludwig sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Why do you call me that?" he asked bitterly. Feliciano paused, seriously considering the question.

"Ve~. Because you're German! And you come from Germany!" he told Ludwig cheerfully.

"That didn't explain anything." Ludwig muttered. Feliciano ignored the comment, instead choosing to latch on to Ludwig's arm.

"Germany, I'm sorry!" the little Italian simpered. "I was the worst host and I left you standing in the hallway and I didn't even ask if you wanted dinner or anything, or, or - "

"It's fine, Feliciano." Ludwig insisted, pressing his hand over the younger man's mouth. "As long as you have everything ready, I suppose it can wait 'till the morning."

"Oh, thank you~!" Feliciano sighed. "I promise, I've got everything! You just need to pay~!"

Ludwig nodded in understanding and, after standing there awkwardly for a while, invited Feliciano into his room for a night cap. Feliciano seemed happy about this, and waltzed in as Ludwig closed the door behind him.

_Why did I close the door_? Ludwig wondered, hand still clenched around the door knob.

"Ve~ Germany, do you have any limoncello?" Feliciano wondered, looking at the assortment of bottles on the side table.

Ludwig gave him an odd look as he crossed to put his book down on his bed. "This is your _house_." he intoned. "You should know what liquor you keep in your house."

"Ah, right!" the Italian sighed, pouring two glasses of liquor and handing one to Ludwig. "Germany is so smart!"

Ludwig grunted, and the two clinked their glasses together. Feliciano plopped down on the bed next to Ludwig.

"He~, Germany." the smaller man asked suddenly - Ludwig looked over at him. Feliciano looked almost...nervous. "Germany, I told you I like you, right?"

Ludwig stiffened. "Yes." he said. "Regularly." Indeed, the Italian was very touchy feely, and often took the time to drape himself over Ludwig and tell him, "Germany, you're neat~. I like you."

"Ah, but, but, you know I mean it, right?" Feliciano pressed, his eyebrows drawn up in worry.

Ludwig stared at him. "What, that you _like_ me?" he repeated; at Feliciano's enthused nod, he gave a nonchalant shrug. "You never call me by my proper name." he said - he was half-joking, but the look on Feliciano's face made him feel guilty.

Then all of a sudden Feliciano was straddling him. Ludwig spluttered, tried to right his drink. "F-Feliciano!" he barked, but Feliciano grabbed his shoulders and tried to hold him still.

"Ludwig." the Italian said, face void of all his usual cheeriness. Ludwig's mouth worked soundlessly.

"What are you _doing_ - " he began, but was stopped when it was _Feliciano_ who clapped a hand over the German's mouth.

"Ludwig." he repeated. "I like you."

A hot flush appeared on Ludwig's face - he took a few seconds to regain his steely composure, and then he said, "All-all right, Feliciano."

The brunette pouted. "You don't believe me." he said simply. "I thought you wouldn't."

Ludwig tried to push Feliciano off his lap, certain that the joke was over, but the Italian held fast. His thumbs began rubbing gently over the sleeves of Ludwig's shirt, and the blonde averted his eyes.

"Feliciano, that's enough, I - "

"Don't you believe me, Ludwig?" Feliciano hummed. Ludwig scowled - what was Feliciano's point in all this?

"Yes, fine, I believe you." he gave up, trying once more to get the Italian off his lap. Feliciano was not to be deterred.

"No~ you don't." Feliciano sighed, then kissed Ludwig on his cheek.

Ludwig began to resemble one of Lovino's tomatoes.

"I _like_ you, Ludwig. Understand?" Feliciano cocked his head. The German's tongue felt like cotton.

"Y-yes." he grunted finally. "I understand."

"Oh, good!" Feliciano remained in his lap, and slid his arms slowly around his neck. "I'm glad, Germany!"

That was when Gilbert walked into the room. He took a look at them.

"Oh ho." he chuckled. "Oh no, Luddy, this is just too great..."

"Gilbert!" Ludwig scowled. To his mortification, Feliciano didn't look the least bit perturbed.

"Hello, Gilbert!" the Italian greeted. "We were just having a drink! Would you like to join us?"

"Oh, you _look_ like you're having a drink." Gilbert's grin was scarily wide, and Ludwig tried to look threatening (which was hard when a small Italian had taken up temporary residence in his lap). He stood, ignoring Feliciano's protests, and winced when he felt the brunette's legs twine around his waist.

"Gilbert, I swear to God - "

Gilbert started laughing. "No, _mein Bruder_, please do not stop for my sake!" he cackled. "Continue! I'll just show myself out..."

"Gilbert, it's not like that!" Ludwig protested, but his brother only gave him a cheeky wave and blew him a kiss before backing out of the room and closing the door.

There was silence. Ludwig stood in the center of the room with a horrified look on his face, Feliciano clinging to his torso. Then Gilbert rapped on the door.

"You might want to lock this next time!" he called through the wood. "Just a suggestion!"

"_GILBERT_!" Ludwig bellowed, face red - Feliciano cringed at the deadly tone in the German's voice and pressed his face into the crook of Ludwig's neck.

_That_ shut Ludwig up. He stood there, quivering. "What...what are you doing?" he demanded.

"Germany's scary when he's mad!" Feliciano piped up. Ludwig wearily ran a hand over his face.

"If...if you wouldn't mind doing me a favor, Feliciano..." he started, and paused uncertainly.

Feliciano unwound himself from around Ludwig and dropped lithely to the floor. "What is it?" he asked with a sincere grin. "Germany can tell me anything~"

"I'd really like it if...if you called me by my name. More. If you don't mind."

Feliciano stared at him for a bit. Then he smiled, a facial expression that was so sincere and open that Ludwig could hardly bear to look at it.

"Of course!" he sang. "Ludwig, I'll do whatever you want!"

Ludwig couldn't help but smile back as Feliciano bounded away from him. "You're...very abstract, Feliciano." he managed.

"Thank you!" Feliciano chirped. "Want another drink?"

"No, thank you." Ludwig said slowly, and took the bottle from Feliciano's hands. "And I don't think you should either. You're acting a bit...funnier than usual."

Feliciano giggled. "You're funny, Ludwig." he retorted, and then topped off his glass. Ludwig rolled his eyes but eventually held out his glass for Feliciano to refill.

The Italian did so with gusto.

* * *

**O.W.A.R.I**. - **O**h, **W**hat **A** **R**elief, **I**nnit?

* * *

**Translation:**

Ma che sei scemo? - What are you, nuts? (thank you to Cry-Wolf-And-Sing for helping me with the Italian!)

**Author's Note:** Back to Matt next chapter!


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note:** Back to our regularly scheduled program! As always, thanks for sticking with me!

* * *

Matt's first inclination that Bonnefoy's staff were a little...less than traditional, was when Chelles sent him down to the wine cellar to do a general dusting and he found two of the staff getting a _bit too close_ amidst the older vintages.

"Oh, jeez!" Matt yelped, jumping backwards. There was an answering, higher-pitched yelp from the shadows of the cellar and the general fumbling sounds of two people separating. Matt winced as he heard the sound of a zipper being done up.

"I'm...I'm _so_ sorry!" he apologized frantically, backing away and holding the duster in front of him as some sort of defense.

"Wait, it's okay, hold on!" came a voice - it seemed to be the one responsible for the yelp earlier. Matt backed up a few more paces to the bottom of the stairs but obediently waited. Eventually a young man came into the dim cellar light, his blonde hair slightly tousled and his violet eyes worried. He was quite short - this was exaggerated by the tall man that came looming after him. He, like the shorter man, also had blonde hair, though it was shorter than the former's, and green eyes. He had a terrifying expression on his face like he was about to rip the other man's head off, and Matt instinctively recoiled.

"H-hello." he began babbling. "I'm really sorry, I had no idea anyone was down here, Chelles told me to come down and dust, I - "

"It's really okay." the shorter man said softly, a blush painting his features. "We...we're not really supposed to be down here, it wasn't your fault at all."

Matt relaxed slightly - the tall man stood frozen, eyes boring into Matt's, but he didn't move so the Canadian figured he was in the clear. "I'm Matthew Williams." he said politely. "I'm new."

"I figured." the shorter one smiled. "I'm Tino Väinämöinen. This is my...friend, Berwald Oxenstierna." he gestured behind him and Berwald gave a solemn nod.

"H'lo."

"Hi." Matt shuffled his feet awkwardly. "Do you, uh...have you worked here long?"

"Only half a year or so." Tino supplied, looking as embarrassed as Matt felt. "Berwald's worked here longer."

"Ab't a y'r." the big man supplied. Matt was finding it hard to understand Berwald, as the man sounded like he was speaking through a mouthful of marbles.

"Do you like working here?" he pressed on. Both Berwald and Tino shrugged in unison.

"S'alr't." Berwald spoke for the both of them. "B't strang' but n'thin' we h'vn't seen b'for'."

"A b-bit strange?" Matt clarified. Tino laughed.

"Don't worry about it, Berwald was just teasing." he assured. Matt looked dubiously back at Berwald. The man didn't look like he could actually _tease_, let alone change his face from the stoic mask it was now.

Matt nodded nonetheless, and Tino gently grasped Berwald's sleeve. "I think we'd better go now." he said, and Berwald's face relaxed into what one could almost call a smile. Tino turned back to Matt, adding, "But it was nice to meet you, Matthew. We'll see you around."

Matt waited a while after the two men had left, until his face was less crimson. As soon as he ascended the cellar stairs Chelles was on him, face torn between horror and amusement.

"I'm so sorry, Matthew!" she gasped. "I completely forgot that they..."

"It-it's okay, Chelles." Matt assured her. "I was just...taken off guard."

The girl cast a sly look at him, and giggled a bit, unable to hold in her laughter.

"Say, Chelles." Matt said suddenly, looking sideways at her. "Does Roderich know about Tino and..."

"No!" Chelles replied quickly, shaking her head. "Please, keep it to yourself. Mr. Edelstein doesn't approve of work relationships. I mean, he's never fired anyone because of it, but I don't want to get Tino and Berwald in trouble."

Matt agreed to not spread it around, though he made Chelles swear that she would be more careful before sending him down into the cellar again.

Strangely, walking in on members of the staff getting it on was only the tip of the iceberg on Matt's bad morning. He had woken up only to remember, in horror, that Ivan had fallen asleep in his room after Gilbert's late night phone call (well, if by _remembered_ Matt meant that he woke up with Ivan's knee in the middle of his back and figured the rest out from there).

He had flailed around a bit, which didn't seem to faze a half-asleep Ivan, who allowed himself to be shoved off the bed by a frantic Canadian. The big man had lumbered sleepily around to find his slippers, then left the room with a few Russian phrases muttered under his breath. Matt had almost been late, had pulled on the slacks and dress shirt he had been expected to wear to work and had thundered downstairs for breakfast. Feliks looked rather insulted that Matt didn't have time to sit down for a "proper" breakfast, but allowed him to make some toast and bring some tea with him in a carrying mug.

Arthur caught him while he was leaving (Eduard was driving again - Arthur was apparently reluctant to let members of the team be seen around Francis's estate). The British man still looked disapproving, and had reminded him to "watch his footing around Bonnefoy". Matt didn't really appreciate the tone Arthur had used and it had only made his mood worse.

Doing odd chores was helping take Matt's mind off things, however, and he was even humming to himself as he ran the vacuum up and down the hallway. He didn't even notice the man standing in front of him until he ran the vacuum into his foot.

Matt looked up, startled. It was one of the gardeners, the older one, Sadiq. He gave Matt a lop-sided grin. "Hey. You the newbie?" he asked.

Matt, still looking surprised, nodded. "Y-yes."

"Good. I need yer help." the man motioned for Matt to follow him and began to walk away. Matt was dismayed to see that he was tracking dirt from the gardens all over the floor he'd just vacuumed.

"W-wait, I need to finish vacuuming!" Matt protested, and Sadiq turned on his heel, looking annoyed.

"Yer done. Looks clean enough." he surmised. Matt pointed at his boots with a little irritation.

"Oh." Sadiq had the grace to look sheepish, and shuffled his feet, knocking more dirt off them. "Sorry. Look, I'll go back out and you find me in the gardens. Ya know where they are, right? And be quick, yeah?"

Matt frowned at the man's straight-forwardness, but nodded nonetheless. Sadiq gave him a careless wave before setting off down the hallway. Matt sighed and flicked on the vacuum cleaner.

Taking care of Sadiq's mess only took a few extra minutes, and soon Matt was stepping outside in the sunlight, searching for the dark-haired man. He was by one of the flower beds, arguing heatedly with the other gardener, the sleepy-looking Heracles. Between them were several piles of weeds.

"I'm tellin' ya kid, just save us both the trouble and take 'em to the garbage!" Sadiq was growling.

"I'm not going to." Heracles was steadfast, crossing his arms across his broad chest.

Matt approached them hesitantly. "Hello?" he asked. "What did you need me to do, Sadiq?"

"Y'see!" Matt flinched as Sadiq jabbed a finger in his direction. "Now I gotta get this poor kid to do yer dirty work!"

"Why don't _you_ do it, then?" Heracles asked, glowering at the elder man. Sadiq looked offended.

"Well...'cause...'cause I asked _you_ to do it!" he finally snorted. "And I have seniority so you should at least have some respect."

Heracles laughed. "Yeah, just because you're an old geezer doesn't mean I have to respect you."

"_Brat_." Sadiq snarled from between his teeth and for a moment the gardeners simply stood there and stared each other down.

Matt sighed. "So...do you have garbage bags to put these weeds in?" he asked tiredly. The two broke from their stare-down and gestured to a pile of trash bags under the beech tree. Matt got started.

Heracles and Sadiq eventually started to do something - Heracles helped rake the weeds into the bag, while Sadiq continued weeding. It was a hot day, and Matt's reluctance to take his shirt off like Heracles suggested was met with gentle ridicule from both men.

"We do it all the time, it's no big deal." Heracles assured, shrugging his shirt off his shoulders as he spoke. Both of them were tanned Mediterranean types, in good shape from all the outdoor work, and when they finally convinced Matt to shed his shirt, the Canadian was embarrassed by his slight frame and pale skin.

"Don't get much sun where you come from, kid?" Sadiq asked with a snort, holding out a tanned arm in comparison to Matt's. Matt blushed.

"Leave him alone." Heracles ordered, though he was looking at the size of Matt's biceps (or lack thereof) with some doubt.

They instructed Matt where to put the weeds (in the trash located by the servant entrance 'round the back of the house), and so Matt set off on a laborious trip out of the gardens, around the side of the house, and to the garbage where he deposited the bag of clippings. He was already sweating in the heat, and wished he had a tie to pull his hair back (it wouldn't help much, as his hair was at that awkward "too short to be long and too long to be short" phase, but it would be a relief nonetheless).

He made several more trips before he had to take a break, leaning against a tree in the shade while he blocked out the sound of Heracles and Sadiq arguing, instead taking the time to admire the outside of the villa. There was a large balcony overlooking this particular area of the garden, and it took Matt a few seconds to realize Francis was leaning over the railing, watching him.

Francis looked impeccably causal, like he'd just gotten up, run a hand through his hair, and gone outside. Matt could see Francis's brilliantly white smile, and the wink the Frenchman gave him even from here.

Matt blushed. Then, feeling awkward and self-conscious of his shirtless-ness, he lifted his hand and wiggled his fingers. Francis laughed, a sound Matt could hear from down in the garden, and that only made him blush more.

"Oi, kid, what's the hold up?" Sadiq asked brashly, and Matt dropped his eyes to the loud-mouthed gardener. When he looked back up Francis had disappeared again. The burly man followed Matt's gaze and smirked. "Oh. I see."

"No, I - " Matt started to say, but Sadiq simply clapped a hand on his shoulder and said, "C'mon, you've got more work ta do."

* * *

Sadiq and Heracles thanked Matt cordially enough, though they seemed to be competing against who could give the most sincere thanks in the end. Matt was sweaty and tired and just wanted to retreat back into the coolness of the house.

Matt had just walked back in when Elizaveta turned the corner and spotted him. "Oh! Matthew!" She all but ran towards him and grabbed his elbow.

"I've been looking _everywhere_ for you!"

"S-sorry!" Matt apologized as the Hungarian woman began dragging him down the hall. "I was out helping Sadiq and Heracles in the garden..."

"It's all right, just come with me. I need to make lunch for the staff and Mr. Bonnefoy and I need you to deliver lunch to the security team."

"Oh, sure." Matt was relieved when it wasn't a heavy chore, but changed his mind when he reached the kitchen and was loaded up with a large tray of food - he caught sight of two bowls of soup, two sandwiches, a small plate of assorted chopped vegetables and two drinks before the Canadian had to stoop to deal with the load.

Elizaveta looked pleased. "Thank you, dear."

Matt found the security room without too much difficulty, all things considering. The tray was starting to make his arms ache, and he risked shifting the tray to one arm in order to quickly knock on the door.

After a few seconds the blonde with the rifle, Vash, opened the door with an affronted look. "Yes?" he asked.

"I...Elizaveta sent me to bring you lunch." Matt explained - he was hoping Vash would take the tray from him before he dropped it, but the man simply gestured for him to come inside.

The glimpse Matt had of the room beforehand was a pretty accurate glimpse; the security room was all business, bleak and impersonal. The girl he had saw earlier turned from her computer to give him a cheery smile. She looked impossibly young (thought maybe it was similar to the "Raivis-effect"?), with blonde hair tied with a ribbon. She looked similar to Vash in regards to hair colour and facial features - perhaps they were siblings?

Matt put the tray down on the nearest uncluttered surface and when he turned the girl had gotten up out of her seat.

"Hi." she said shyly. "I'm Lili."

"I'm Matt." he waved awkwardly. "Hi."

Lili giggled. "Hi."

"So are...you in charge of all these computers?" Matt asked, gesturing to the banks of machines. He tried to keep his facial expression neutral, but inside he conflicted; on one hand he was amazed at the hi-tech devices currently in front of him, but at the same time there was nervousness at finally doing what he was here to do.

Lili nodded. "Yup. We're in charge of central security - at least, the technological part of it. There's a security guard that patrols the grounds in the evening, but otherwise it's all cameras and sensors!"

Vash shot a displeased look at Lili, but the girl ignored him. Matt gaped, impressed. "That's amazing! Just the two of you?" he confirmed. Lili blushed at his praised, and nodded.

"Yes, it's just Brother and me. It's pretty simple, the machines can all be controlled from a few main banks. It looks more impressive than it is."

"No, it's fascinating!" The nerd in Matt twitched his fingers greedily, itching to plop down in Lili's chair and explore. "How do you keep _track_ of everything? This house is so big!"

It was Vash who spoke up now, taking a bite out of one of the sandwiches. "You get used to it, actually. Most of the action around Mr. Bonnefoy's house is quite regulated - that is, most servants have routine jobs that require them to do the same things day after day. After awhile you get used to the pattern and you can pick out when things aren't as they should be. We've been watching _you_ for most of the day, actually, since you're new and you don't really have a place in the staff yet."

"It doesn't just take a talent with computer to be Bonnefoy's security!" Lili winked, chomping merrily on a carrot stick. "Both Brother and I have really keen eyes!"

Matt didn't doubt it, what with the constant weapon Vash kept around him.

"And do you often have to...chase intruders off the property?" he asked the blonde man pointedly, referring to the gun.

Vash shifted the weapon and stroked a gloved hand over the barrel with an almost fond touch. "Believe it or not, I intimidate enough people without firing a shot." he said blatantly.

Lili giggled. "Brother's just kidding." she explained, casting an adoring glance at Vash. "We've never really had any major disturbances - once a drunk guy went streaking across the front lawn, but Brother's a very good shot and didn't hit him."

"You _fired a gun at him_ for streaking?" Matt subconsciously took a step back from the man, who looked unfazed by his response. Vash shrugged.

"He hopped the fence. The sign clearly says "No Trespassing" in several different languages."

Matt didn't really know what to say to that. Lili was smiling at her brother like it was a normal occurrence, so Matt forced one of his own.

"Well, uhm...I really should be getting back to work." he told the pair, inching towards the door. "It was very...nice to meet you, Lili. Uhm. See you around."

"Oh! Okay!" Lili gave him a sunny smile. "See you soon, Matt!"

_Jesus_, Matt breathed out as he speed walked away from the security room. _I'd hate to be on the wrong side of_ that _guy_.

"Brother," Lili was saying back in the security room as she accepted the bowl of soup she handed to him. "I think you scared Matt."

"Good." Vash grunted. "It's good to teach the newbies that they shouldn't try to slack off."

* * *

When Matt returned to Arthur's, he discovered that Ludwig and Gilbert had returned from Italy. When he asked what sort of weapons they'd bought, neither German brother would disclose very much, only that it was "top-notch quality" (Gilbert) and "would help them a lot" (Ludwig) but "probably wouldn't be used on people, don't spazz out, blondie" (Gilbert again).

Over dinner, Arthur grilled Matt on his day, and Matt felt proud when he actually had information to give - about the security system, how he had seen something similar in university and could probably manage it, and how _freaky _that Vash guy was. Arthur looked impressed at what he had to say, and had a few praising words to give him. Alfred clapped him on the shoulder, looking proud of his baby brother.

Matt _didn't_ mention Francis on the balcony; nor did he mention how the Frenchman had passed him in the hallways coming in from a meeting in the late afternoon.

"Hot day, isn't it Mathieu?" he had asked, and Matt, thinking that the attention Francis had paid to him previously was simply the boss being nice to the newbie, was caught off guard.

"Er, yes. I - I saw you on the balcony, were you enjoying the weather?"

"Oh, yes." Francis's face was positively _delighted_. "I saw _you_ too."

Matt blushed. "Y-yeah, I was, uhm. I was helping Sadiq with the gardening and it got really hot so I..."

"No need to be so bashful, _mon cher_." Francis waved him off with a sly grin on his face. "Everyone enjoyed the view, I'm sure."

Matt was tempted to ask if _everyone_ included Francis himself, but instead Francis placed a hand on his shoulder, leaned in close and whispered, "_Malheureusement_, I must agree with Sadiq. I cannot wait to see you with a little _sun _on you."

Luckily Arthur assumed that Matt had taken his advice to keep his distance from Francis - though it could hardly be _his_ fault, Matt thought crossly as he finished his meal, if Francis insisted on saying and doing these things.

(_Besides, it wasn't like he didn't enjoy them..._)

* * *

_END CHAPTER EIGHT_

_

* * *

_

**Author's Note:** Comparing this to my other chapters, I have never experienced so many spell check errors in my life until it came to writing Berwald's dialogue. Tino's surname didn't help, either.

Also... "Say, Chelles" is what I've been waiting seven chapters for. Just so you know. D:


	9. Chapter 9 OMAKE Honda Version

**O.M.A.K.E.** - **O**i, **M**oody **A**sian **K**atanas **E**xist!

**Author's Note:** Another omake, this time with Kiku. It's a short one, I apologize!

* * *

_"Kiku, why are you being so difficult, aru~?"_

_They are standing in the centre of the office, and Yao is bearing down on him, his face a bit younger, expression worried rather than angry. Kiku himself feels angry, frustrated, unable to tell Yao what he really wants but can't ask for._

_"I am not being difficult, Yao-nii-san." he replies, evenly, and it pains him to see the worry on Yao's face deepen._

_"I don't understand why you and Yong Soo don't get along, aru." the Chinese man insists. "He is a member of our _family_ - "_

_"He's not our family!" Kiku cuts him off so uncharacteristically that Yao pauses, stunned, allowing the Japanese man to carry on. "I - I was here first with you, Yao-nii-san. Yong Soo was not."_

_Yao heaves a sigh, gathers the younger man up in his arms, rubbing a slender hand down his back. "Don't call me that." he exhales into Kiku's soft, shiny hair. "It's strange, aru."_

_"You _are_ my 'nii-san." Kiku insists, arms tightening around Yao's waist. "You took care of me and trained me." _And loved me,_ he adds silently as Yao pulls back to stroke Kiku's cheek._

_"We have such a..._difficult_ relationship, Kiku," Yao begins softly. "You'll have to forgive me, I've been so busy lately with meetings."_

_"It's fine." Kiku says, even though he is lying. He knows _Yao_ knows he's lying, and the concerned parental look he receives from the older man is enough to make him turn his eyes to the floor in shame._

_"Kiku." Yao's voice is steady. "You have to learn to say what you mean. You can't expect to bottle everything up inside you."_

_"I know." Kiku answers mechanically. Yao sighs again and dares to press a kiss to the Japanese youth's pale brow. The line of Kiku's mouth tightens, but he does not turn away from the kiss. _I wish I could tell you everything, _he thinks._

_In Kiku's mind, things shift. Time speeds forward. Now he is standing in the very same spot for very different reasons. Yao's face is a picture of betrayal and hurt, and when the Chinese man grabs him Kiku does not remember Yao _ever_ being so possessive._

_"You can't leave." Yao says, and it is with the crisp, cold tone that he uses when greeting business men, government men. Not with Kiku, not with Yao's own little brother._

_"I won't let you."_

_Kiku sucks a breath in through his teeth, tries to keep himself calm._

_"Well, you can't stop me. I can leave if I want to." It is an empty threat, they both know it. Kiku has been waffling over leaving Yao for ages, but every time he looked at his - brother? Friend? _Lover_? - he couldn't find the strength to turn around and walk away._

_Yao plays this game too; he _knows_ this game, and it is unfortunate that he chooses this moment to bring the game farther. "You know, Kiku, that you made a promise to me, aru." he begins quietly, hand remaining closed over the Japanese man's forearm in a gesture of possession. "If you leave, you won't be able to come back. I will do everything in my power to make sure that you can't return to Beijing without some serious consequences."_

_Something in Kiku grows very cold and settles at the bottom of his stomach. He feels like a child, throwing a tantrum - and that is exactly what Yao expects him to do, expects him to shuffle his feet and apologize and things will go back the way they were._

_They will not. Kiku feels a rush of anger, _cold_ anger that makes him sick inside, and he backs away from Yao, pulling his arm free. He does not want Yao to think he is a child. He wants Yao to respect him, wants even an _inkling _of the respect that he has lavished on the Chinese man for all these years._

_His katana hangs from the wall of Yao's office; a present to Kiku that the Japanese man hadn't dared use for fear of ruining it. Now he takes it down, unsheathes it, holds it in front of him._

_"I'm leaving." he repeats, firmly though he feels like crying. "I'm leaving but I will not have you barring Beijing from me. It's my home as much as it is yours."_

_"Please, Kiku." Yao eyes the katana with a look that says 'I don't believe you could really use that'. "Put that down, we can talk about this..."_

_"No, we can't!" Kiku cries, shoulders heaving suddenly, hands trembling. The katana does an admirable job of not wavering, and Yao pauses, a frown appearing in the corners of his mouth. "We c-can't talk because I can never say what I want! I...I don't want to be part of your clan, I don't want to be one of your lackeys, I want - "_

You. Us. Something I can hold on to_. Yao waits expectantly for him to finish, but instead Kiku takes a step towards the door, still holding the katana. "I'm leaving." he repeats._

_Yao trembles once, straightens up. Then, with all the anger and disappointment of a parent, reaches out for Kiku. Kiku flinches as the Chinese man says, "Stay. Kiku, you will stay."_

_Then the surroundings blur. Kiku moves, Yao turns, Kiku strikes. There is blood and Kiku's heart is hammering in his ears and it is like torture when Yao hits the ground and does not get up... _

Kiku shoots up in bed, panting, covered in sweat, in an unfamiliar house, gripping the bed sheets so hard that he can feel his nails against his palm through the bunched fabric.

It takes him several seconds to get his bearings. He is staying in one of the rooms above Yao's restaurant. His flight is the next morning and he will be heading towards France with a suitcase full of microchips and equipment. It takes him longer to realize Yao is in his doorway, giving him a strange look.

"I heard you from across the hall." he says, his black eyes focused on Kiku. Kiku squirms and make a conscious effort to unclench his fists. "Are you all right?"

Kiku manages a nod. "I am...I am fine, Yao-san."

"You're not." Yao chides, and glides toward the side of the bed. "Were you having a nightmare?"

"No..." Kiku begins, but Yao catches his face in his hands and tilts it up so Kiku meets his eyes. Kiku cannot look away from the gentle concern on the Chinese man's face.

"What was it about?" Yao asks. "Sometimes it's better to talk about it."

_Not right now_, Kiku thinks, and pins his gaze to the drapery over Yao's shoulder.

"It was about...it was about five years ago." he admits, and slowly Yao drops his hands - Kiku's chin remained tilted of its own accord.

Yao takes a breath, and slowly, hesitantly, kisses Kiku. Kiku lets him, arms pinned awkwardly between their bodies, though he knows he should push him away, apologize, deflect the concern. He doesn't know what to say, what to do towards this man who he hurt so terribly. Yao doesn't push it further - it is almost chaste, just a pressure of lips, but Kiku can feel so much expressed in such a short amount of time. He leans in just as Yao pulls away gently and embraces him.

"It will get better." Yao promises, and right now Kiku does not _know_ how it will get better but here in Yao's arms he can almost fool himself into thinking it's fine and lets his eyes flutter closed, breathing in the scent of flowers that drifts off Yao's hair.

Yao does not leave Kiku's side until early in the morning.

* * *

**O.W.A.R.I.** - **O**h, **W**hat** A** **R**elief, **I**nnit?

* * *

**Author's Note:** I told you so~! We resume our regularly scheduled program next chapter!


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note:** I had a bad case of writer's block, which is my excuse for the delayed update, but then I went to the Animethon in my city and met these really cool Hetalia fans. They had arranged a photo shoot and they were loads of fun to be around. I just wanted to say thank you to them for bringing me out of my writer's block (nothing like watching England get drunk and Russia stalking the Asian nations to get some Hetalia inspiration!).

Also - haha, I hope no one notices that this is turning out to be a not-so-heist-like fic. I am working on fixing that, don't worry!

* * *

This, Matt thought, might not be so bad. He had initially been worried about the other members of staff - if they would be able to see right through him, if they would notice his odd behavior and interest in the security system. But it had been a couple of days and Bonnefoy's staff had integrated Matt into their little family quite easily. Chelles was the one he was closest to, as she constantly helped him with directions and chores and was someone nice to talk to when he felt overwhelmed. Berwald and Tino (despite the initial awkward introduction), were more than happy to talk with Matt and help him out. Elizaveta worked mostly in the kitchen and Matt only saw her when he was doing errands for her. Matt didn't cross many paths with Roderich, though he did seem to have a pattern of playing the piano in the early afternoon, usually Mozart or Beethoven. If Matt had a moment, he would sit and listen by the door, but usually Roderich could tell when he was and chastise him for loitering when things needed to be done.

Matt was just finishing up a chore for Elizaveta when Tino rounded the corner and spotted him. Following close behind on his heels was Berwald. When the Finnish man saw Matt, he waved.

"Matt! _Moi moi_!" the said Canadian paused as he waited for Tino to draw closer.

Berwald nodded to Matt, who returned it.

"_There_ you are." Tino was panting a bit, and explained, "We were wondering where you were! You want to come down with us to the kitchen and have lunch?"

"Oh." Matt usually brought a lunch with him, courtesy of Feliks ("I like, bet their cook isn't better than me!" the blonde had grinned at him, though the Canadian silently admitted that Elizaveta's cooking was very good). "Sure, just let me get my lunch..."

"Don't worry about that!" Tino insisted, "Eliza's got enough for everyone!"

As it turned out, most of the staff gathered down in the kitchen to eat and talk throughout the lunch break. Even Heracles and Sadiq had come in from the gardens, though Lili had chosen to be the one to stay up in the security room this time and take her break later.

"Hey, haven't seen you in a while!" Sadiq greeted Matt as he walked in. "Sit down, kid!"

Matt yelped as he was forcibly dragged down into a chair between Sadiq and Heracles. Vash was opposite him, already munching on a sandwich, while Berwald and Tino jostled their way into seats around the crowded table.

Chelles smiled kindly at him as she passed around a plate of sandwiches. "Matt, I've been meaning to ask you where you go at lunch." she told him.

Truth be told, Matt had been sitting out in the gardens, and when he told her she giggled.

"People will start thinking you're a hermit, Matthew!" she teased, handing him the platter. Matt picked one randomly and passed it on. Vash rolled his eyes.

"_Lili's_ going to be a hermit if she doesn't start coming down for lunch more often." he muttered, taking another bite.

"Why were both of you in the security room that one day when I delivered you lunch?" Matt asked.

"We were doing rebooting and some debugging." Vash explained. "Elizaveta thought it would be easier that day if she simply sent the food up to us."

"Matthew!" It was Elizaveta, having gone through a side door and returned with a bowl of fruit. "How nice of you to join us! Apple?"

"Er, thank you." Matt took one and watched as everyone burst into excited chatter.

"All right, all right, settle down!" Elizaveta held up her hands and everyone quieted. "Now." the Hungarian woman had a strange gleam in her eyes, and Matt could of sworn he saw her rub her hands together. "What have you got for me?"

Tino raised his hand. Elizaveta pointed at him to speak. "I saw Mikkel talking to the milkman again."

There was a general murmur of interest from the staff. Matt thought hard - he'd been introduced to Mikkel briefly, a spiky haired, exuberant man who was Francis's personal driver.

"Anything different to report?" Elizaveta wanted to know - her fingers twitched like she was aching to jot this down. Tino shook his head.

"About the same. I think Jan said something sarcastic but Mikkel didn't seem to get it."

Elizaveta rolled her eyes. "That's Mikkel." she sighed. "Well, if anything, keep me posted if something changes."

Tino muttered something that sounded like, "Not likely." but Elizaveta didn't seem to hear him.

"Anything else?" she asked the staff.

Matt must have looked a bit confused, because Heracles propped himself up on his elbow and told him in a soft undertone, "Elizaveta likes to gossip. Every few lunches the staff shares information they've heard with Elizaveta since she mainly stays in the kitchen."

Matt nodded and was about to comment when Berwald said, "Saw M'st'r Bon'foy w'th a str'nge man t'day."

That caught Matt's attention and he turned his head as Elizaveta looked pleased and asked, "Any idea where this one's from?"

"This one?" Matt repeated.

"Mr. Bonnefoy is quite a...charmer." Elizaveta explained with a knowing smile on her face. "He usually has both lady and gentlemen callers...they don't last long, though."

"Di'nt catch h's n'me." Berwald continued. "Said h' w's vis'tin' fr'm s'mewh're. He look'd intr'sted in Bonnef'y. Th'y had tea out in th' gard'n."

"Oh, right, I remember." Sadiq confirmed, nodding his head - Heracles didn't look like he would be of any help to the conversation, as he had fallen asleep at the table, nose precariously close to his glass of juice. "They were out there all morning."

For some reason Matt felt a little off at that statement, and as the servants continued to gossip he focused on eating.

Elizaveta looked pleased with the amount of gossip she was receiving, but when the kitchen phone rang she announced she had to run an errand and that she would be right back.

The staff fell silent. Matt looked up from his meal to see that they were all waiting for Elizaveta to get far enough away from the kitchen. Then, instinctively, their shoulders hunched and they leaned in towards the table. Heracles woke up.

"Okay, Vash," Tino looked excited. "Tell them what you told me."

Vash looked affronted. "Yeah, I saw a guy hanging around the front of the house this morning. He asked Mikkel if Roderich Edelstein worked here."

"What did he look like?" Chelles asked excitedly. Vash wrinkled his nose.

"Some albino freak." he sniffed. "White hair, red eyes. Really loud."

Matt stared. That description sounded eerily like Gilbert, and the German _did_ know Roderich...

"What did he do?" Tino pressed.

"He was looking really suspicious. Tried to climb through the window so I shot at him a couple of times until he ran away."

Surprisingly, Matt did not have to stretch his imagination far in order to see Gilbert doing all of these things. Perhaps he would need to have a talk with the Prussian man when he returned home?

"I heard," Tino said with a smile. "That Mr. Edelstein had a lover before he worked here, and left him for Elizaveta."

"Left _him_?" Sadiq snorted. "I didn' know Edelstein batted for both teams!"

Berwald grunted, and Sadiq quickly countered, "Not that there's anythin' wrong with that, big guy!"

Tino nodded in confirmation. "Uh-huh. He doesn't talk about it _at all_ - I only know because Elizaveta slipped up one time when we were talking, but she didn't tell me much more than that. She said Roderich would kill her if he knew I knew."

The members of staff let out a collective murmur, and Matt resisted the urge to laugh. They looked like high school kids gathered around the lunch table, eager to hear some gossip. Chelles gave Matt a look of exasperation.

"Don't mind us." she told him fondly. "We're always like this."

About the same time as he was being gossiped about by his employees, Francis Bonnefoy was entertaining his mysterious visitor, who in actual fact was simply his old schoolmate, Antonio Carriedo. The Spaniard was here on vacation from his work in Italy and Francis, delighted that his old friend would stop by, had given him a customary kiss of greeting and taken him out to the gardens to chat.

Antonio could divulge little about his job (and it was understandable too, if what Francis had heard about the Spaniard's current profession was correct), but was perfectly content to wax on the subject of his _amor_ (or rather, lack thereof) when it came up - particularly when that _amor_ involved Antonio's boss.

"Ah, _mi amigo_." Antonio sighed. "Work relationships should be illegal. At least then I would have a reason to give up on him."

Francis thought of that cute, curly haired servant he'd met, and chuckled. "Oh please, _mon ami_, that would hardly stop you."

"True." Antonio laughed, not looking at all upset. "Well, that is life, as they say. So, Francis," the Spaniard leaned forward across the glass garden table, absently propping his ankle up on his knee and jiggling it. "Tell me, have you heard from your..._dear friend_ Arthur lately?"

Francis gave a bark of laughter and reached forward to pluck his teacup from the table. "Ah, Arthur." he purred. "No, not for a couple of days. Not since I invited him to my party."

Antonio raised his eyebrows. "_You_ invited Arthur Kirkland to a party."

"Mm-hmm."

"A party thrown by you."

"Mm-hmm."

Antonio cocked his head and held up three fingers, moving them back and forth. Francis chuckled and swatted them away. "I have _not_ been drinking, thank you very much, Antonio."

"All right." Antonio put his hands up in surrender. "So what gives, then?"

"Simple." Francis stroked his chin with his fingers. "It is practically _tradition_ for the Englishman and I to try and out-do one another. I would be committing a _faux pas_ if I did not invite Kirkland to my party."

"And what is it that you have to _out-do_ him with?" Antonio asked eagerly. The Frenchman leaned forward, eyes twinkling.

"Ah, _mon cher ami_, you will obviously have to come to the party to find out." he purred, laughing when the Spaniard's face fell.

"You think I can?" Antonio whined. "Lovino'll _kill_ me, he's already ignoring me 'cause I came here."

Francis put on his best pout. "That man has you on a very tight leash." he muttered, then allowed a sly grin to stretch over his features. "But you _love_ that, don't you Antonio?"

Antonio laughed, averted his eyes, a blush staining his face, and Francis had a hearty laugh at his friend's expense.

After a little while they left the garden when Antonio began complaining of a growling stomach.

"Do you want to have lunch in the city?" Francis suggested. "I need to run some errands as well, if you don't mind waiting through the car ride."

"No," Antonio said politely, though inside he was wondering if he could sneak something from the kitchen before they left. "Let's go. You know any good restaurants?"

Francis cocked an eyebrow. "_Bien sûr_. Now I just need to find someone to...ah."

Antonio was slightly surprised by the glint that appeared in his friend's eyes - he hadn't seen that look since secondary school, when Francis would fix his eye on a pretty student and make his move. The Spaniard watched as Francis left his side to call to a blonde and bespectacled servant who was moving down the opposite hallway. They conversed in low tones, colour spreading slowly throughout the youth's face.

After a few moments Francis hooked his arm through the servant's and towed him back to Antonio.

"_Cher_ Mathieu has kindly agreed to accompany us into town," Francis looked like the cat who swallowed the canary. "I have a few things to pick up, Mathieu, I will need your help. You do not mind?"

The servant named Mathieu shook his head, that same redness still on his face.

Antonio wondered.

* * *

Gilbert learned, sometime in grade school, that he was very good at:

a. getting into places he wasn't supposed to be in, and

b. being so annoyingly convincing (or so convincingly annoying, it fluctuated) that eventually he _got_ into the places he wasn't supposed to be in.

It was lunchtime. The crazy blonde nutcase who had fired a few rounds into the grass in front of him earlier that morning had not yet appeared to stop attempt number two, so Gilbert found it fairly easy to press himself up near the parlor window.

Well, he was fairly _certain_ it was the parlor. After all, he could hear piano music from the half-open window, and it sounded like the same drivel Roderich always played, so he didn't hesitate when he pried the window the rest of the way open, hauled himself laboriously over the windowsill and propped himself up to watch as Roderich, his back to him, played a waltz on an old grand piano. Gilbert leant back on the sill, eyes half-lidded; he could almost whistle along to this piece, he'd heard it so many times. He watched Roderich's back as the pianist moved from side to side with the tempo, fingers flying elegantly over the keys.

As the piece ended and Gilbert slumped backwards, grinning lazily, Roderich said crisply, "Mr. Weillschmidt, if you want to make an appointment with Mr. Bonnefoy you should use the front door."

"Yeah?" Gilbert swung his other leg up over the windowsill and straightened up, grinning. "What about you, _Mr. Edelstein_? What if I want to make an appointment with _you_?"

Roderich had still not turned around to face Gilbert, his fingers stilled on the ivory keys, and Gilbert approached him like a lion stalking its prey.

"I regret to inform you, Mr. Weillschmidt, that I do not take appointments."

"Yeah, I bet." Gilbert stepped up behind him and placed his hands on the Austrian's shoulders - Roderich stiffened but otherwise remained still.

"Listen Roddy, I take the time to send you a message and you don't even have the decency to write anything back."

"I did." Roderich said, and Gilbert chuckled.

"Sending me a poem about _shit_ isn't an answer, four eyes. It's an _aversion_."

"Just because you can't appreciate the nuances of subtext, Mr. Weillschmidt, doesn't mean you can come barging in here talking about - "

"What I'm _talking_ about, Roderich, is an _answer_." Gilbert spun the Austrian around on the piano seat, ignoring the affronted look on the latter's face. "So." Gilbert brought his face close, closer than he knew Roderich liked. The Austrian's glasses were askew, which amused Gilbert greatly. "Are you _happy_, Roderich?"

"I..." Roderich reached up, presumably to straighten his glasses, but Gilbert stopped him.

"Are you?" he pressed, and then he left Roderich in order to skirt the grand piano and close the door to the parlor. Roderich seemed to regain his senses and started spluttering nonsensical statements as Gilbert leaned against the door and smirked at him.

"I - this - _of course_! I love Elizaveta very much!" he protested. Gilbert nodded.

"Not denyin' _that_." he pointed out, shrugging his shoulders. "She's a great gal. What I want to know is, are you happy?"

Roderich didn't say anything, and Gilbert took a step towards him. "Admit it." everything about the Prussian's tone was laughing, but Roderich could see the hurt in those eyes. "What you have with Elizaveta doesn't even _match _what we had. All those times..." Gilbert trailed off, uncertain, and stopped advancing. "All those times I...you know I _meant_ it, I mean, I don't say that for everyone, and maybe I shouldn't have said it at all considering the way you..."

"_Nun muss sich alles, alles wenden_." Roderich said softly, and Gilbert gritted his teeth.

"See, you always start spouting that Uhland bullshit at me." he snapped.

"Everything must change, Gilbert." Roderich translated, and finally fixed his glasses. "That was a long time ago, what we had. I don't want to get into it. It's over, all right?"

Gilbert clenched his hands into fists, shoving them in his pockets. "So, what. You're _over_ me?" he chuckled bitterly. Roderich nodded, looking regretful.

"I'm sorry Gilbert."

"No."

That surprised the Austrian, who blinked behind his glasses. "No?" he repeated. In three quick strides Gilbert was standing very close to the Austrian, red eyes glassy and hurt.

"You're not sorry at all." he accused, then grabbed Roderich's face and forced their lips together.

The Austrian stiffened and tried to push Gilbert away - Gilbert persisted, hands crushing on either side of Roderich's face. Roderich said something into Gilbert's mouth and Gilbert took the opportunity to probe questioningly with his tongue.

Roderich wrenched away. "_GILBERT_!" he snarled, and the white haired man backed off, pressing his fingers to his lips as if to savor the moment.

"You taste the same." he tells the brunette, cocking his head and adding cheekily, "A bit more _snooty_ but, you know..."

Roderich trembled, with anger and confusion and maybe some regret. "Gilbert, I don't think you should be here. You should leave."

"I think..." Gilbert has stepped up to him again, runs a rough hand through Roderich's hair, and is just about to finish his sentence when the door opens and Elizaveta walks in.

Roderich freezes. Gilbert notices his facial expression and turns. His complexion turns even whiter.

"Ahaha." he gives a weak chuckle. "Liz, hi..."

Elizaveta's face is a mask of horror. "What are you doing here." it is not a question, and as Elizaveta takes a step towards them, Gilbert grins nervously.

"I was in the neighborhood." he explains, and Elizaveta's eyes fall to Gilbert's right arm which is wrapped painfully around Roderich's waist.

"Ah." she gives him a hard stare. "You should have called ahead, I would have made some tea."

"I was just passing through." Gilbert comments, slowly releasing Roderich under Elizaveta's evil eye.

"You know, I still have that bird clock you gave me." Elizaveta approaches him slowly, and although she does not have a frying pan in her hands she looks just as intimidating.

"Oh yeah?" Gilbert retreats further towards the window he came in, and Elizaveta nods.

"Yeah. It reminds me how _annoying_ you are. Get out of here Gilbert."

Gilbert stares at her. Then he laughs and gives an easy shrug. "All right, I'm going." he acquiesced. "It was nice seeing you two again. Oh, and four eyes." he fixed Roderich with a smug, piercing grin. "If you ever wanna answer my question, my mobile number's the same. Give me a call."

Both Elizaveta and Roderich watch as the man hops back out of the window with a cheery wave. Elizaveta turns to Roderich with a confused look on her face.

"You mind explaining to me what - " she begins, but is cut off when Roderich slides a hand around to the back of her head and plants a soft kiss on her lips. Surprised at the sudden show of affection, Elizaveta closes her eyes and leans into the kiss. After a while Roderich pulls away and puts his other hand on her cheek.

"I love you." he says simply, and she blushes.

"You know I love you." she replies, and stands on her tiptoes to kiss him again. "I have to get back to work."

"I - of course." Roderich steps backwards, smoothes his jacket down. "Forgive me."

Elizaveta gives him a mischievous smile. "I don't mind." she admits. "I kinda wish you'd do it..._more often_." she plays with the strap of her apron and winks. Roderich colours.

"E-Elizaveta..."

She laughs. "See you after work, love."

Roderich sighs and runs a hand through his hair. What a day.

* * *

Matt isn't sure how this has come to be. He is sitting at an outdoor cafe in Marseilles where, according to Francis "they serve the best bouillabaisse!" Antonio, who has been flashing him knowing, smiling looks for the past hour ever since Francis drove them into the city, suddenly announced that he had errands of his own to do, and if Francis wouldn't mind excusing him, they would meet up for drinks later? They had exchanged words quickly in rapid fire Spanish. Francis had agreed and now it was just Francis and Matt, alone at a table.

"So, Mathieu." Francis leaned one elbow on the table and gave him a friendly smile. "How do you like Marseilles?"

"It's beautiful." Matt answered honestly, chancing a look around. They were right near the _Jardin des Vestiges_, an archeological garden that boasted several Hellenic remains. Francis had explained it to him as he walked by and Matt was curious to see them. "It's a very old city, isn't it?"

"Of course!" Francis looked proud, puffing his chest out. "It is a most old and noble city. Very good culture, but of course you can see that." he waved his hand flippantly around the square they are in.

"Now..." the man leans in more and Matt cocks his head in question. "Tell me something about yourself, Mathieu. You are in school?"

Matt laughed and shook his head ruefully. "I'm not _that_ young." he accused, and the Frenchman laughed.

"_Pardon_, I did not mean to offend!" Francis shook his head. "It is hard to guess your age. How old are you, then?"

"Twenty-five."

"Oh come, mon cher," Francis said teasingly. "You cannot blame me for thinking you were still in school. So what is it that you want to do?"

Matt launched into a long-winded explanation of how ever since he was little he wanted to go into computer programming but so far had only had a job as a security guard. Francis tsked sympathetically.

"Sometimes you have to work at jobs you don't like in order to get ahead." he told the Canadian. Matt grinned.

"Tell me about it."

Francis cocked his head, confused, but before he could say anything else a shadow fell over them and a voice asked, "Matthew?"

Matt froze and turned his head. There, blocking the sun, wearing the same cream scarf and carrying a bag of assorted groceries, was Ivan. The Russian looked equal parts confused and amused.

"I-Ivan." Matt stuttered, and missed the dark look Francis shot at the tall man.

"Do you know this man?" Francis asked, tapping his fingers sharply on the table. Matt gave him a confused look.

"Ah. Yeah." Matt's head was spinning. _What should I say_? "Ivan, this is my boss, Mr. Bonnefoy. Mr. Bonnefoy, this is Ivan, my - "

"I am his neighbor." Ivan interrupted (it was semi-true, since they had rooms next to each other - _again_ - in Arthur's villa), and made no move to shake hands. Francis looked just as eager to touch the other man.

"Matthew, I thought you were at work." Ivan told the younger man sweetly, his eyes conveying a message that said, _you are so dead_. Matt swallowed nervously, and opened his mouth to speak.

"He is accompanying me in my errands." Francis spoke up for him, his voice cool and crisp. "We were merely stopping for lunch."

"Ah." the amused look on Ivan's face faltered slightly, and Matt looked between the two men with growing concern.

"Is - is something the matter?" he asked them. Francis averted his eyes with a forced smile, grasping his glass in one hand. Ivan shook his head slightly.

"Nothing is the matter." he declared, and reached over to clap a friendly hand on Matt's shoulder. Francis looked away pointedly. "Matthew, perhaps when you get home, we will have things to talk about, yes?"

_Shit, I **am** dead_. Matt thought, and he nodded obediently. Ivan flashed him another smile, nodded briskly to to Francis, and carried on down the sidewalk, humming to himself.

Matt turned back to Francis, wincing slightly. No doubt Ivan was going to tell Arthur about what he saw, and Matt was expecting a tongue-lashing from his British boss later that night.

"What a charming man." Francis said dryly, and Matt felt a prickle of annoyance at the man's tone.

"He's just a little..." Matt trailed off, unsure of _how_ exactly to describe Ivan. "...normally he's very nice, I don't know what's got into him."

"_Mon cher_, you called me Mr. Bonnefoy earlier," Francis remarked off-handedly. "How professional of you."

The man almost looked like he was...sulking! Matt stifled the urge to laugh. "Does that bother you, _sir_?" he teased softly. "You _are_ my boss, after all."

Francis actually _stuck out his lower lip_. "As your boss, I asked you to call me Francis, didn't I?" he argued, and Matt agreed.

"I was just trying to be formal." he waved a hand around in defense. "I apologize."

"Ah, Mathieu, you know I am teasing." Francis reached over to pat Matt's cheek, and the Canadian blushed.

"S-so, _Francis_." Matt intoned. "Shouldn't we be getting to your errands? It's getting late."

Francis gave him a sly smile. "I lied," he admitted. "I don't actually have any errands to do."

"Oh!" Matt cast him a questioning look. "You - then why did you - "

"Sometimes I need a break." Francis sighed easily. "I hope you don't mind that I dragged you along."

"N-no! I don't mind at all..." _Except for the fact that Arthur's going to kill me, of course_...

"_Bien_." Francis's eyes were glittering suspiciously. "Now, Mathieu, where were we before your...friend interrupted?"

"You were asking me about school." Matt offered helpfully.

"Ah! Of course." Francis leaned back in his seat, studying Matt intently as if he was about to ask him a question.

"Did you want to be a businessman when _you_ were in school?" Matt asked instead, hoping the Frenchman wouldn't take offense at his forward question. Francis looked intrigued at his question.

"Well, _bien sûr_, I knew that my father expected me to carry on the family business and my education was focused on that. But, I think, if I wasn't to have taken over the business, I would have liked to be a chef."

Matt laughed before he could stop himself. "Really?" he asked, and Francis spread his hands in genial surrender.

"_Vraiment_." he confirmed. "I love cooking. Cuisine is very important to me. I remember," he paused to laugh. "I remember, in university I had a roommate, whom I knew from secondary school, who had _absolutely terrible _cooking skills. He could boil water and make it taste like crud."

"Yeah? You must have gotten along well." Matt chuckled. Francis rolled his eyes.

"_Oui_. I could have at least overlooked his horrible talent for cooking, but he was also an insufferable _morceau de merde_."

Matt raised his eyebrows - it was uncanny how Francis could make even unsavory language sound attractive. "You two didn't agree on things?"

"_That_, Mathieu, is an understatement." Francis had become more animated, talking about his schooldays, and Matt was contented to listen to the Frenchman. "We argued _constantly_. It was all his fault, of course - " Francis ignored Matt's snort of disbelief. " - but he ended up becoming my..._ennemi_ of sorts throughout university until we parted ways."

"Wow. So what's he doing now?" Matt wanted to know. "Do you know where he is?"

"_Oui_." Francis smirked. "You might know of him? His name is Arthur Kirkland. We travel in the same circles, we often see each other in passing."

It had never occurred to Matt how..._similar_ Francis and Arthur were, but listening to them talk about each other with equal parts distaste and grudging fondness, Matt could see a connection between them. It made him wonder just how deeply _personal_ this job was to Arthur Kirkland.

They spent another few hours in Marseilles - Francis gave Matt a quick tour of the older part of the city, and the Canadian even got to go into the _Jardin des Vestiges_, which he nerdily enjoyed. Antonio caught up with them, asking them cheerfully how their day had gone, and the three of them had driven back to Francis's house. Antonio was staying for dinner, and Matt bid them goodbye as Eduard drove up to the back of the house not five minutes after they had returned. Antonio and Francis went upstairs to the Frenchman's quarters for an aperitif - Elizaveta, who was coming out of the staff entrance as Matt was leaving, shot him a look that clearly said, _you are telling me what happened, tomorrow at lunch._ Matt gave her a weak smile and doubted he could refuse her.

Eduard had not brought Raivis with him today, but he was in a slightly more talkative mood - Matt learned they shared an interest in computers, and nearly startled the driver out of his skin when he learned that Eduard had once worked with a prestigious European software firm.

Matt had expected the worst when he stepped into the house but when he finally managed to find Arthur, who was taking tea in the sun room, the Brit merely greeted him and asked him about his day. Stuttering out an appropriate reply, Matt then set out to find Ivan.

Ivan was in his room, and gave Matt a bright grin as the Canadian knocked on his door.

"Ah, Matthew! Come in. How was your day at work?" the big man asked, closing the door behind Matt.

"I wanted to explain myself." Matt began steadily, but Ivan held up a cheerful hand.

"Nuh-uh, no need to explain." the Russian giggled. "I got a clear enough picture from this afternoon."

"No!" Frantically, Matt interjected. "Mr. Bonnefoy said he needed to run errands, was I supposed to tell him no?"

"One can do that without getting fired." Ivan hummed. He put a big hand on Matt's shoulder. "I believe Kirkland told you to stay away from Bonnefoy?"

"I'm just trying to do my job!" Matt said testily. "It was totally professional."

"We'll leave that up to Kirkland to decide." Ivan remarked offhandedly. In desperation, Matt grabbed the other man's sleeve.

"Please." he said steadily. "I wasn't trying to go against Mr. Kirkland's suggestions. Please don't tell him about this."

"Oh! Well, I suppose I could keep quiet." Ivan tapped his fingers against his chin. "Hmm, but I will need you to do something for me in exchange."

"Sure." Matt agreed stiffly, confused at Ivan's request.

"On Matthew's day off he will go with _me_ to town too, yes?" Ivan asked. "We will keep it professional, like today."

Matt flushed with colour, and thought about protesting his innocence one more time. "Fine." was his answer instead.

Ivan clapped his hands together. "Good!" he crowed. "I am glad. I look forward to our date - "

"It's not a date!" Matt protests, but Ivan is too cheerful looking to hear him.

But Ivan, at least, keeps his word - Arthur remains oblivious throughout dinner, greeting the newly-arrived Kiku warmly and getting into a fight with Alfred over dessert while Gilbert eggs the two on. Halfway through dinner Matt catches Ivan's eye and the Russian has the audacity to _wink_ at him.

Matt wonders, not for the first time, _why_ he had to get on that plane to London in the first place.

_Goddamn Alfred._

* * *

In the middle of the night Gilbert got a call. He groped blindly on the bedside table and held the phone up to his ear, grunting a hello. There was four seconds of silence, then:

"There are many different kinds of _happy_." Roderich hisses on the other end of the line, and Gilbert can imagine the straight-laced man sitting, slumped, on his bed, raking a hand through his brown locks, eyes narrowed in frustration. Maybe Elizaveta is asleep in the next room - whatever the situation a feeling curls in Gilbert's gut, a sense of perverse satisfaction that _he_ is the only one who can make Roderich pull his hair out like this, worry and fret and break his uppity character, call him at midnight a desperate man.

"I was happy with you and I am happy with Elizaveta!"

"Which one of us were you _happier_ with?" Gilbert asks groggily, rubbing his eyes. There is a pained pause.

"Don't make me answer that." the words are squeezed out between clenched teeth. Gilbert laughs, a bitter sound that reverberates in a tinny echo in both their ears.

"_Gute Nacht_, Roderich. Have a good sleep."

"You - " Gilbert hangs up the phone and goes to sleep.

* * *

_END CHAPTER TEN_

* * *

**Author's Note:** Mikkel = Denmark, Jan = Norway. I just Googled "most common names in Denmark/Norway" respectively and got these. I know the common fanon name for Denmark is Mathias but Matthew and Mathias are close enough to become confusing. Thank you, as always, for reading and I hope you continue to do so!


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note:** I - you - over a hundred reviews? You guys are amazing...ILU so hard! To thank you, please have a chapter that makes up for the lack of heisty-ness!

* * *

Matt hadn't even realized he was exhausted until Alfred was shaking him awake and told him he'd fallen asleep reading a book on his bed.

"I was knocking for a while but you weren't answering." Alfred explained as Matt sat up straighter, rubbing his eyes.

"S-sorry, Al." Matt's jaw cracked as a yawn overtook him. "I guess I'm more tired than I thought!"

"No problem!" his brother's eyes crinkled behind his glasses. "Hey, but wake up a little, huh? Artie sent me to get you so we can have a group meeting."

_That_ perked Matt up. Now that all the members were now safely in France, he had expected something like this to happen.

"Okay, just give me a minute." Alfred waited, impatiently bouncing up and down on the bed as Matt smoothed out the sleep-wrinkles on his shirt, fixed his glasses, and stretched.

"Fine, fine, you look stunnin' Mattie, a real _doll_, now c'mon!" Alfred insisted, jerking his younger brother up by the arm. Matt acquiesed with a playful glare, and the two brothers entered Arthur's study just as everyone else was sitting down. Alfred led Matt to two vacant chairs and plopped himself in between Matt and Ivan with grim determination.

"Well, since _Alfred_ has decided to grace us with his presence - " Arthur began irritably.

"_Not_ my fault, I had to wake Matt up!" Alfred chimed in. Matt nodded in confirmation, though it did little good. Arthur sighed but did not press the matter.

"Right. Now that we're all here, I'm expecting you to formulate some semblance of a plan. The deadline is approaching quite quickly so I would be greatly reassured if you would tell me you have something planned..."

"I _always_ have something planned!" Alfred interrupted, looking insulted by the very _idea_ that he wouldn't have a plan. Arthur scowled.

"Oh, really? Then let's hear it." the Brit crossed his arms and leaned on his desk - he was almost promptly uprooted when Matt's brother sprang from his seat, hopped up onto the desk ("stop, that's good mahogany!" Arthur exclaimed) and addressed the five other men.

"Right, guys, so I've been thinking - "

" - _That's_ new." Gilbert quipped, looking unusually surly. Alfred frowned.

"Shut it, whitey. Anyways, now that Kiku's brought us back what we ordered, I guess we should talk about what you're doing next, Matt."

Matt, who had been actually drifting off to sleep again, blinked up at his brother and tried to look like he'd been paying attention.

Alfred didn't notice.

"Er. What _am_ I doing next?" Matt ventured as Kiku stepped up and deposited something in Alfred's palm.

"_Voila_!" Alfred held up what looked like a tiny, almost microscopic chip.

"You went all the way to China for _that_?" Gilbert asked Kiku rudely; he was shushed by Ludwig almost immediately.

"_This_," Alfred spoke above the irritated albino. "Is the software for the world's tiniest camera."

"That's a _camera_?" Arthur asked in disbelief, having settled in Alfred's vacated seat to watch the boastful American. Alfred nodded proudly as if this was all his idea.

"Uh-huh! Matt, we're gonna attach this to your glasses so you can take pictures of the house for us without attracting attention."

"How does it work?" Matt was fascinated, and he turned to Kiku for the question. The Japanese man looked pleased and bowed his head.

"It will hook onto the corner of your glasses and be controlled wirelessly." he explained. "You can control it with a switch that's set in a ring - it's very touch sensitive so just brushing against it will active the camera."

" 'Kay Mattie, here's the thing." Alfred spoke up as he allowed Matt to take the delicate piece of technology from him and examine it intently. "We need outdoor shots, of all entrances. We need shots of the cellar, the foyer, the hallways leading to the artefact room, pictures of the room itself..."

"Wait, wait." Matt shook his head, momentarily distracted from the small camera in his hands. "You want me to go _in_ the room?"

When Alfred nodded, Matt blanched. "Are you _kidding_ me? No one's allowed in there, they've got enough locks and cameras to keep _ninjas_ out, and the security's crazy! One of the guards has a _rifle_!"

"_And_ a handgun." Gilbert offered helpfully - Matt turned to stare at him incredulously, and Gilbert mouthed, "_later_" with a cheeky wink.

Alfred didn't look worried. "Okay. So, isn't there anyone you've befriended who could help you look inside?"

Matt thought for a minute, then paused. He remembered Chelles complaining about how she always had to help Aron, a pale haired man with a chilly disposition, when he cleaned the artefact room. The man was Icelandic, he was told, and was a very, very trusted employee in the Bonnefoy house. Every week Aron would let himself into the room with his high-end cleaning supplies and do a careful job of tidying up the place. The problem was, Chelles told Matt one time, was that Aron had so much _stuff_ that she invariably ended up helping him carry everything _into_ the room, helping with the more menial cleaning tasks ("sometimes I move books slightly to the left"), and then carrying everything _out_ again.

"I think I have a way." Matt said softly, and Alfred perked up.

"Knew it!" he crowed triumphantly. "You always come through for me, Mattie!"

The other men looked just as pleased, and Matt allowed a small feeling of pride (of _usefulness_, something that he had not felt since arriving here) to rush through him.

Then it was back to business.

"Excuse me." Ivan raised his hand as if they were in school. "But I am still driving that silly little rental car around. I was promised something nicer?"

"Well, we _were_ thinking of renting a van..." Alfred trailed off, tapping his chin with a finger. Ivan looked less than impressed.

"I will be driving a _van_?" Ivan sniffed. "What, am I a monkey now?"

"What do you want, a Bentley or something?" Alfred snorted. "This is a _heist_, if you hadn't forgotten. Plus Kiku probably wants to set up surveillance in the back, right?" he asked the Japanese man, who muttered something about "whatever wouldn't inconvenience anyone".

Ivan looked less than happy; he crossed his arms across his broad chest and slumped down in his seat, which creaked ominously.

Ludwig stood up next. "I'm wondering to what use you are going to put the weapons I purchased."

"Oh, yeah!" Alfred cast an uneasy glance at his brother, wary about talking about guns in his vicinity. "Lissen, Ludwig, I can just come to your room later and we can - "

"I think Matthew is quite old enough to listen to you and your gun talk, Alfred." Ivan purred out, and Matt gave him a strange look over Arthur's head. Alfred looked put out.

"He's also old enough to speak for himself, _Ivan_." he shot back.

"Both of those statements are extremely hypocritical." Arthur growled. "So belt up and start talking."

As grateful as Matt was to be treated as one of the group, he didn't want to admit that he had_ no idea_ what they were talking about. Ludwig went off on a stiff, formal explanation about short range and long range weapons, accessories for a sniper-like set up if needed and even "less lethal" weapons like Tasers and tranquilizers.

"Are you expecting to have to kill a lot of people to get this stuff?" Matt asked in disbelief - it sounded as if Ludwig had just purchased a complete arsenal. Ludwig fixed him with a piercing stare.

"You can never be too careful." the German said gruffly.

"Bonnefoy heightens his security during parties," Arthur explained. "And his team is tough."

Matt settled back in his seat, a little perturbed. He hoped that the guns would only be used as a scare tactic - he had grown fond of the staff at the Bonnefoy house and already felt a cold guilt in his gut when he thought about any of them getting hurt because of him.

"Okay, so, here's the plan so far." Alfred spoke up, drawing their attention back to the American. "We're going to purchase a vehicle _for sure_ by the end of the week. _It is probably going to be a van_, so no complaining!" this was directed at Ivan, who pretended the bespectacled blonde wasn't talking. "Kiku will set up all the stuff in the back. And also set Matt up with the camera glasses."

Kiku nodded in understanding. "_Hai_."

"Matt, you will take as many pictures as you can over the next couple days." Alfred instructed.

"Okay." was Matt's response.

"Gilbo, can you somehow get a guest list to Francis's party?" was Alfred's next question.

The albino gave him the thumbs up. "Already on it."

"Sweet." Alfred looked satisfied - Arthur less so, and he made his dissatisfaction known.

"That's it?" he asked. "A week and a bit and that's all you've come up with?"

"Hey." Alfred looked genuinely offended as he glowered at his British boss. "We've been working together for a long time, and this is how we operate, yeah? If you don't like it, maybe you should hire someone else!"

Arthur, surprised that Alfred would take this tone with him, spluttered out, "_Excuse me_?"

Alfred flinched a little, as if he wished to take the words back, but held his ground. "What, didn't you hear me? I didn't know you were _that_ old, Artie."

"You little wanker - " Arthur began, on his feet and facing the American. Matt tugged on Ivan's sleeve, drawing the Russian's attention to him.

"I think the meeting's over." he hissed, and Ivan looked amused.

"Oh, I think it is just getting interesting, Matthew." he pointed out, and Matt glared at him.

"Seriously, we should leave."

Ivan looked disappointed that he would miss such an interesting show. Then he shrugged, rose to his feet, and said, "Whatever Matthew wants."

Gilbert wanted to stick around to hear the argument - even _Kiku_ looked interested, but together Matt and Ivan managed to herd the rest of the men out. Arthur and Alfred paid no notice to them; it was like the rest of the group didn't exist, and their arguing got louder as Matt closed the door to the office. Kiku, Ivan, and Ludwig walked off, but Gilbert was still pressed up against the door, trying to hear everything. Matt was about to berate him when Gilbert pressed his hand over the Canadian's mouth and cackled, "This shit's like a soap opera! Listen!"

Reluctantly, Matt laid an ear to the door, face precariously close to Gilbert's.

"I knew from the start you didn't want to do this project!" Arthur was hissing - Matt could hear Alfred's attempts at interjection, though they were quickly shot down by the Brit. "I _knew_ it was a bad idea to hire you, I had dismissed the things I heard as falsities..."

"Whoa, whoa." now Alfred sounded angry. "Who's been telling you stuff about me?"

"None of your concern!" Arthur retorted.

"Uhm, yeah, it _is_ my concern if it's about _me_ and how I do my job. Look, if you were expecting witty commentary and everything planned out, you're shit outta luck, Arthur. Me an' my boys, we need _information_, which you haven't been giving us, and we need _time_, which you insist on rushing us through. I mean, it's bad enough we have to pull this shit off in a month, but if you're going to hover around like a mother hen - "

"I am _not_ hovering around like a mother hen!" Arthur burst out. Gilbert muffled a snicker into Matt's hoodie. The Canadian was not impressed. "I just don't want you to screw this up! I could care less about your well-being, as long as I get what I _paid_ you for!"

There was an awful silence. "I mean - I didn't - " Arthur started, voice panicked.

"No, I get it, Kirkland." Matt had rarely heard his brother sound so serious, and it worried him. "I understand now. But _you_ hired _us_ and we pull heists the way we always have. If that bothers you, I will understand if you wish to seek other employees."

Arthur gave a belabored sigh. "Alfred - "

Gilbert shoved Matt away from the door and they both ended up on the floor as the door was violently flung open. Alfred stormed out, not even seeing them, and as he was rounding the corner Arthur followed after him, face a mask of something Matt couldn't even decipher. The Brit swore under his breath and kicked the door jamb violently before turning. Gilbert grinned up at him from the floor, having fallen partially over Matt in the process and was now straddling the young blonde. Arthur studied them, rolled his eyes, and then retreated back into his study. The door closed with loud finality.

"So!" Gilbert began cheerfully, looking down at an incredulous Matt. "My place or yours?"

* * *

"Why were you at Bonnefoy's today?" Matt asked Gilbert. The Canadian was sitting on one of the chairs in the albino's room, having been given a beer and told to "sit down and shut up" while the elder changed out of his more formal dress. Gilbert, having returned from the bathroom wearing ratty jeans and a dark grey t-shirt with the Prussian eagle plastered on the front, looked warily at him.

"Who told you _that_?" he asked, and Matt stared at him.

"You know when you go through windows and end up having security shoot at you, you're not being _sneaky_, you're being _stupid_, eh?" the Canadian intoned. Gilbert paused, then snorted and hit Matt playfully on the back.

"Man, you've got a mouth on you!" he chuckled. "Why can't you be like that with your brother, huh?"

"I am. Now _why_ were you at Bonnefoy's? Did Alfred know you were there?" Matt pressed, and the Prussian man grimaced. Matt took that as a "no".

"Then why am I getting berated for doing _my_ job and being warned about scary ol' Mr. Bonnefoy, when meanwhile _you're_ climbing through windows where you're not supposed to be?" the blonde sighed; then he yelped as Gilbert reached forward to grab Matt by the collar of his shirt and hoist him to his feet.

"Hey, _no one_ can know about that, okay?" the albino demanded, not loosening his grip on Matt's shirt. Matt glared.

"Why?"

"Just...'cause..." Gilbert growled in frustration. "I promised West I wouldn't do it anymore."

"Do what?" Matt pressed.

"Go see Roderich." was the reluctant answer. Matt's eyebrows arched in realization.

"Roderich Edelstein?"

"Oh, no, I meant the _other_ one." Gilbert snapped. "Yeah, _him_! Who else has a dorky, ancient name like _Roderich_??"

"Why were you going to see him? Couldn't you have been less..._suspicious_ about it?"

Gilbert pouted, looking increasingly more and more like a sulking child. He let Matt go and sat on the edge of his bed. "Doesn't want to see me." he muttered. "Ever since we broke up."

"_Oh_, so _you're_ the - " Matt began, but broke off when Gilbert's head snapped up.

"I'm the what?" he asked. Matt gave a weak grin.

"N-nothing." he answered, and Gilbert shrugged it off.

"Anyways, that's what I was doing. I saw him and said hi. Nothing else."

"Yeah?" Matt remarked absently - not that he believed the Prussian's story for a minute, but he had really had his fill of juicy gossip for the day and took a sip of his beer.

Gilbert looked relieved that Matt didn't ask any further questions, and hoisted his own beer into the air in a sort of mock-toast. "You're an okay kid, you know that?" he asked, kicking Matt lightly in the shins. "Not quite as awesome as me, but you'll do."

"Thanks." Matt said wryly, settling back in his seat.

It turned out that Gilbert, when he wasn't busy being annoying or self-absorbed, was quite the entertainer. The beer bottles piled up and as Gilbert became more tipsy he began telling Matt stories about the team - including that one time in Italy, _and_ that time Ivan had almost jumped out of a helicopter without a parachute.

"He did _what_?" Matt confirmed in horror, the warm alcoholic feeling in his stomach momentarily forgotten.

"Yeah!" Gilbert crowed, swaying slightly. "Man, you shoulda been there. Alfred was about to shit his pants! Ivan was saying something about how he wouldn't need a parachute because the snow was so soft! Fucker must've been drunk or something!"

"What's _with_ that guy?" Matt murmured, mostly to himself, but Gilbert caught it.

"He's _insane_, dude!" the albino proclaimed. "Fucked up in the head. I mean, he scares everyone who comes across him, and there's rumors about his sisters an' everything..."

Matt suddenly felt uncomfortable talking about Ivan like this - sure, the man was unnervingly cheerful, had no respect for personal space, _and _had blackmailed Matt into going into town with him, but Ivan had put up with Matt, had even tried to teach him something when he was feeling overwhelmed.

"Look, Gilbert, it's getting late, and I have work tomorrow. I should probably get going." Matt rose to his feet a bit unsteadily. Gilbert muttered something that sounded like, "Whatever, pansy" but let Matt go with a grunt and a wave goodnight.

Matt _thought_ he was okay to walk back to his room, but apparently not - not only did he make a scene weaving up and down the hallways of Arthur's villa, but when he _did_ find a room, it wasn't the right one.

He opened the door. Arthur, who had been busy laying angry, bruising kisses to Alfred's neck, looked up dazedly. His legs were wrapped around Alfred's waist, and Matt's older brother looked quite out of it too, his head tilted back and a jumble of moans spilling from his throat. The room stank of alcohol.

Matt gaped. Arthur gaped back, and Alfred, whining, "Why'd y'stop?" lifted his head and met Matt's gaze.

Nothing is more sobering than your little brother walking in on you about to get it on with your boss. Alfred all but shoved Arthur off him, getting to his feet - Matt slapped a hand to his face when he realized Alfred was wearing nothing but cowboy-printed boxers. At least _Arthur_ was still wearing his sweater vest.

"_M-Mattie_!" Alfred's eyes were wide. "I - I can explain - "

"Nonono, it's okay!" Matt exclaimed, throwing his hands in front of him in self-defense. "I'm so sorry, I walked into the wrong room, uhm, uh, I gotta go get ready for work..."

"It's midnight!" Alfred protested.

"Early bird gets the worm!" Matt babbled, and quickly closed the door on Alfred's stunned face.

He leaned against the door frame, breathing heavily and waiting for the flush of embarrassment to fade from his face. From within the room he heard:

"You twat, you nearly broke my _foot_, throwing me like that!"

"S-sorry Arthur!"

"Hah! Yeah, I _bet_ you're sorry....now get back over here. And take those off..."

Matt winced and left.

* * *

_END CHAPTER ELEVEN_

* * *

**Author's Note:** Aron = Iceland. Same deal with Denmark and Norway, Googled "most popular baby names in Iceland". Incidentally, the name means "lofty" - I thought it fit Iceland quite nicely.

UHM and I apologize for the Eddie Izzard/Dane Cook references. Quicker updates = shorter chapters. I don't know which arrangement I like more...


	12. Chapter 12 OMAKE JoKir Version

**O.M.A.K.E.** - **O**h **M**attie,** A**wkward **K**illjoy, **E**h?

**Author's Note:** Ahaha, please don't assume that these quick updates will become a habit! But, by request of a _lovely_ reviewer, ANOTHER OMAKE!

* * *

"That's it? A week and a bit and that's all you've come up with?" Arthur and Alfred locked eyes, and it was not for the first time that Alfred felt annoyed towards his British boss.

"Hey." he said in a tight, controlled voice. "We've been working together for a long time, and this is how we operate, yeah? If you don't like it, maybe you should hire someone else!"

Arthur actually looked...surprised. _What_, the little voice in Alfred's head thought sourly. _He didn't think I'd get annoyed with his constant insults?_

"_Excuse me_?" was all the Brit spluttered out, and Alfred almost lost his anger.

Then, vindictively, he added another jibe. "What, didn't you hear me? I didn't know you were _that_ old, Artie."

"You little wanker - " The Englishman's mouth thinned into a no-nonsense line and Alfred scowled at him.

"Yeah, yeah, you're always sayin' that!" he scoffed flippantly. In the background he could faintly hear his brother talking, and the scraping of chairs. "Try being original for once instead of acting like a grouchy old man."

"_For your information_," Arthur seethed, pressing close to the American. "I am the one who _hired_ you, so you'd better watch your mouth..."

"Yeah, if I'd known what a grouch you were before you hired me - " Alfred left the statement open ended, but Arthur certainly got the idea. And it infuriated him.

"I knew from the start you didn't want to do this project!" Arthur hissed. Alfred looked taken-aback, and started to say something; Arthur cut him off. "I _knew_ it was a bad idea to hire you, I had dismissed the things I heard as falsities..."

"Whoa, whoa." a crease appeared in Alfred's brow. Arthur had never seen Alfred so serious, so business-like. "Who's been telling you stuff about me?"

Arthur felt embarrassed, and simply snapped, "None of your concern!"

"Uhm, yeah, it _is_ my concern if it's about _me_ and how I do my job." Alfred shot back, his posture defensive, angry. Arthur wished he could see where the line was; then he could make sure he didn't cross it. The American continued, "Look, if you were expecting witty commentary and everything planned out, you're shit outta luck, Arthur. Me an' my boys, we need _information_, which you haven't been giving us, and we need _time_, which you insist on rushing us through. I mean, it's bad enough we have to pull this shit off in a month, but if you're going to hover around like a mother hen - "

"I am _not_ hovering around like a mother hen!" Arthur burst out, clenching his fists in frustration. "I just don't want you to screw this up! I could care less about your well-being, as long as I get what I _paid_ you for!"

It took Arthur a moment to realize just how _hurt_ Alfred actually looked. He had never seen the boy this way, and in a very uncommon gesture, began backpedalling, sounding more panicked than he would of liked to. "I mean - I didn't - "

"No, I get it, Kirkland." Alfred's voice was cool. He had only ever called him "_Kirkland_" once before, when Arthur had approached him for the job. "I understand now."

_Understand what?_ Arthur thought as he stood there and gaped at the American. "But _you_ hired _us_ and we pull heists the way we always have. If that bothers you, I will understand if you wish to seek other employees."

Arthur didn't know what to do, where to look. Alfred made up Arthur's mind for him, as he pushed off from where he was leaning on the desk and made to leave.

Arthur caught his arm in passing and sighed. "Alfred - "

Alfred wouldn't meet his eyes, simply tugged his arm firmly out of Arthur's grasp and flung the study door open. Arthur followed him as he stormed out. He glowered at the American's retreating back then turned on his heel.

Gilbert and Matt were sprawled on the floor, Matt's face a mask of guilt and Gilbert with his eyebrows raised expectantly. Arthur rolled his eyes at them, retreated back into his office. There was a bottle of whiskey in his desk drawer as well as some aged spirits in the cabinet downstairs, and it was suddenly sounding like an appetizing idea.

* * *

It was almost midnight by the time Alfred, sitting on his bed fuming over recent events, began going through lists of _why_, exactly, Arthur Kirkland was a jerk in order to keep his anger going. Otherwise the anger was threatening to give way to the exasperated fondness that Alfred always carried in his chest when talking to the short, irritable Englishman.

Like his eyebrows! Or...or the fact that Arthur never took him seriously (well, neither did anyone else, but Alfred always felt the most bothered by _Arthur's _brushoff).

Okay, well, that was impossible. Alfred slumped against the headboard of his bed, drawing his knees up to his chest and tapping his fingers against his knees. Shit, he supposed he should apologize to Arthur in the morning.

Alfred was just getting up to turn off the bathroom light when there was a sound from the hall resembling someone hitting their fist weakly against his door. Alfred hastened to answer and then was almost bowled over by Arthur, who was hiccuping and holding an empty bottle of alcohol.

"You...brat...we need to talk." Arthur slurred, stumbling into the room. Alfred held the British man up by the armpits.

"Arthur, you're drunk." he pointed out intelligently. Arthur snorted, head lolling to rest against Alfred's shoulder.

"Twelve points for _you_, wanker." he told Alfred's shirt, then collapsed onto Alfred's bed.

Alfred followed suit, watching with amusement as the Brit scrabbled for purchase on the slippery bed cover. "Arthur..." he began, but Arthur pointed a wobbling finger at him and acidly growled, "Shut up, _I'll_ start!"

"Er, Arthur." Alfred interjected, standing up with the intention of helping Arthur get back to his room. "Maybe you shouldn't be talking when you're this - "

Arthur grabbed him by his shirt collar and then tugged him down into a kiss. Alfred flailed, his face heating up, and Arthur took his surprise in order to flip their positions so that Alfred got a lapful of drunk Brit.

"Guh." was what Alfred said as Arthur fixed him with a piercing, authoritative stare.

"You lissen to _me_, boy - " Arthur began, shaking a finger at him. Alfred frowned.

" 'M not a boy!" he protested. Arthur clapped a hand over his mouth.

"Close your mouth before flies get in!" he snapped. "I'm trying to....trying to tell you something important."

"You're _drunk_!" Alfred tried again, trying to avoid the urge to suck Arthur's face off. Not only would it be very un-heroic of him (taking advantage of someone when they're drunk was _not_ what heroes did) but since Alfred had pretty much been fantasizing about this exact scenario (minus Arthur being intoxicated and with all his clothes on) since the day he met Arthur, he was pretty sure this could only end badly.

"Mm-hmm, tell me something I don't know." Arthur glowered at him, then gripped his face in one hand. "Now, you will listen, boy. _I am the boss_. Whatever I say goes. And right now..." Arthur swallowed thickly, shifted his hips _just so_, and Alfred bit his lip in torment. "Right, now I am going to kiss you again. Understand, you thick-headed lout?"

Alfred was too startled to feel insulted by Arthur's name calling. So when Arthur took that time to kiss Alfred again, the American couldn't even muster enough self-control to push the Brit away again. Alfred was so hot - Arthur's heat in his lap and the suffocating feeling of his slacks and dress shirt left him sweating. Or maybe it was the way Arthur was nipping at his lips, not bothering to be careful or gentle. Alfred swallowed a moan down.

Arthur tugged insistently on Alfred's shirt. "...'ff." he heard his boss mutter into his mouth.

"Wh-wha?" Alfred asked dumbly as he missed Arthur's mouth and instead slid wetly across the Brit's jaw.

"Off. Shirt." Alfred chuckled at Arthur's commanding tone.

"Yessir." he quipped weakly, groaning when Arthur pinched his arm as punishment.

"Li'l bugger." Arthur grumbled, fingers fumbling with the shirt's buttons. "Gotta...teach you...sum manners."

"Yeah, you can try old man." Alfred panted, helping Arthur with the last few buttons. Arthur slumped forward - Alfred moved to catch him but realized that it wasn't because he'd lost his balance, but because he was trying to kiss Alfred's chest.

Alfred tried to hold his laughter in as Arthur cursed and fumbled for support by grabbing Alfred's shoulders. Halfway through his laugh turned into a moan when Arthur's hands shot down to his crotch.

"Pants off." he commanded. "Gotta...give you your punishment."

"Man, you've got a Daddy complex, huh?" Alfred mused as he lay back, wincing as Arthur yanked a bit too roughly on his slacks. "Fine with me."

"Nnrgh." Arthur didn't dignify Alfred's statement with a reply, and once he shucked the pants off the younger man, he climbed clumsily back into Alfred's lap. Alfred sat back up and propped himself up with his arms as Arthur began paying..._special_ attention to his neck.

"Ouch, Artie, you're a real piece of work, you know that?" Alfred joked as he felt the Brit's teeth scrape against his sensitive skin. Arthur bit harder and Alfred let his neck loll backwards.

"Shit." This should _not_ be turning him on right now. Alfred subtly tried to rub himself up against Arthur for some relief.

Well, nothing made him lose his sex drive faster than his younger brother stumbling into the room - though truth be told, he only noticed because Arthur had stopped kissing his neck. Lifting his head with what he thought was a very mature, "Why'd y'stop?", he met Matt's blue-violet eyes.

Alfred went cold, and jumped to his feet, sending the inebriated Brit on his lap tumbling to the floor. Ignoring Arthur's muffled swears, he winced as he watch Matt cover his eyes with his hand.

"M-Mattie!" Alfred choked. "I - I can explain - "

He realized that an explanation was probably the _last_ thing Matt wanted right now as the young blonde threw up his hands and said immediately, "Nonono, it's okay! I'm so sorry, I walked into the wrong room, I gotta go get ready for work..."

Alfred wanted to at least apologize for scarring his brother for life. "It's eleven at night!" he pointed out, and Matt began backing away.

"Early bird gets the worm!" was Matt's frantic reply, and in another few seconds the younger of the two brothers had exited out the door from whence he came.

Alfred cuffed himself over the head, feeling so foolish standing there in his boxers being seduced by his drunk boss. "Stupidstupidstupid..." he muttered furiously to himself.

"You little twat!" Arthur bellowed from the floor. "You nearly broke my _foot_, throwing me like that!"

Alfred spun, face heating up. "S-sorry Arthur!" he apologized, hastening to help the British man. Arthur was already pulling himself to his feet with help from the bed. His eyes were glazed over and he was already loosening his tie with frantic fingers.

"Hah!" Arthur barked, swaying on his feet. "Yeah, I _bet_ you're sorry...now get back over here." he pointed at Alfred's boxers. "And take those off..."

Alfred froze, torn between youthful lust and the sense of responsibility Arthur had lost in a haze of alcohol. He finally shook his head.

"No, Arthur. You need to sleep this off. I know...I know what you think of me, and I _know_ you're going to regret this s-so...so it's better if you just left."

Alfred steadied his voice as Arthur gazed incredulously - _hurt, his eyes were so hurt_ - at him, then awkwardly gathered his shoes from where he'd kicked them off.

"F...fine." Arthur finally spat. "I..." he didn't say anything else, just pushed unsteadily past Alfred towards the door. Alfred stepped forward, concerned.

"Do - do you need me to help you to your room?"

"I think you've done _enough_, thank you Alfred." Arthur's acidic retort sounded surprisingly sober.

Alfred watched his bedroom door close, keeping his bright grin on his face.

That was the heroic thing to do, right? And if Alfred was _anything_, he was certainly a hero.

So why did he feel so bad?

* * *

**O.W.A.R.I. **- **O**h, **W**hat **A**** R**elief, **I**nnit?

* * *

**Author's Note:** Th-this is for Puffi the Insane, because she puts up with my flakiness.


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note:** I had a lot of fun writing drunk!Arthur and then drunk!Francis immediately afterwards. A lot more fun than I think I should be allowed to have writing stupid dialogue.

* * *

Really, if Matt hadn't walked in on Alfred and Arthur on top of each other last night, he would never have found himself in this predicament.

If Chelles had asked him any other day if he wouldn't mind working overtime and staying around to help out for dinner, Matt would have politely declined. Francis was having business partners over for dinner, and most of the staff left in the late afternoon. But Matt was reluctant to go back home and face Alfred (who was still attempting to explain what Matt _never_ wanted to hear about), and it _was_ his day off the next day anyways, so he agreed.

At least he wouldn't see Francis while he was dining. Throughout the day their paths had kept crossing, and Matt couldn't shake the weird feelings he got whenever he saw the Frenchman's face. Matt hadn't felt this way since he had _accidentally-but-maybe-on-purpose _helped Alfred sneak into the girl's changing room when they were in junior high, and it made him irritable.

Well, at least he _thought_ he wouldn't see Francis. Chelles made him help carry food into the dining room. _Then_ she sent him in to refill wine glasses. Every time he made a trip into the dining room, Francis would pause in his conversation to wink or smile. As the evening wore on he also started getting more inebriated, though he kept his French charm about him the entire time. His _dinner guests_ were worse off than him, chuckling so hard that their faces turned red with the effort. Matt nearly dropped the plate he was taking away when Francis reached out to gesture for him and instead brushed his knuckles against Matt's thigh.

"Che-elles~," Matt moaned at the maid while they were loitering around outside the dining room, sounding unnervingly like his brother. "How much longer, eh?"

Chelles patted his head with a giggle. "Just until his guests leave, I promise."

Matt made an upset noise, and obligingly went down to the kitchens to see if Elizaveta needed any help. He was roped into washing dishes for an hour and a half, and by the time he finished the tips of his fingers were pruned beyond belief.

"Aw, thank you Matthew!" Elizaveta trilled, giving him a chaste peck on the forehead. Matt smiled at her as the kitchen phone rang, and she traipsed over to answer it. Matt wiped his wrinkled hands on a dishcloth.

"Matthew." Elizaveta said, hanging up the phone. "Chelles needs you to bring up a cup of tea for Mr. Bonnefoy."

"Oh. Okay." Matt nodded, reaching for the kettle. "Is he not feeling well?"

"I'm afraid our Mr. Bonnefoy had a _bit_ too much to drink tonight." Elizaveta chuckled as she pulled a china cup and saucer from the overhead cabinets. Matt took it from her and dropped a tea bag in.

Elizaveta seemed a bit...tense as they waited for the water to boil, casting furtive glances at Matt.

"Mm, Matthew." she spoke up but Matt was so preoccupied he didn't take note of her at first.

"Does Mr. Bonnefoy take sugar in his tea?" he asked, looking for a teaspoon.

"Two sugars. In the cabinet." Elizaveta answered automatically, then bit her lip. "But Matthew, listen to me."

"Yeah?" Matt looked up, frowning at her serious expression.

"What do you...I mean, how do you feel about Mr. Bonnefoy?"

At first she was afraid she'd offended the younger boy - Matt averted his eyes, tapped his fingers on the counter.

"I - I dunno why you're asking me that, eh?" he chuckled weakly. "He's a good boss, a-and he's fun to talk to, I guess, and - "

"You know he's fond of you, right?" Elizaveta asked solemnly. "You've caught that?"

"I - " Matt bit his lip. He had to keep telling himself that Francis was just being nice. He didn't want to put that hope out there, to think that this man, who he was going to help rob blind, favoured him or wanted a friendship in any way.

"I kind of got the idea." he admitted, and Elizaveta nodded her head.

"As long as you know." she said, and took the kettle off the stove as it started whistling.

Matt was confused, but didn't press the subject - a few minutes later he was precariously climbing the stairs towards Francis's quarters, balancing a saucer and cup of hot tea in his hands. Chelles was standing outside the door to Francis's room, head held close to the wood to listen. She didn't notice Matt walk up behind him, and jumped when he greeted her.

"What are you doing?" he asked, and Chelles shrugged, looking embarrassed.

"I'm trying to see how drunk he is." she admitted. "If he's _really_ drunk, he'll start singing French folk songs."

Despite himself, Matt leaned in. He couldn't hear anything. Chelles grinned. "So he's not _that_ drunk." he guessed.

"That's about right!" she said, then patted his wrist. "Look, I've got to get those tablecloths from the dining room and bring them downstairs to be laundered. You'll be all right?"

"It's just tea, Chelles." Matt joked. "Thanks for underestimating my skills."

Chelles laughed. "Sorry! After this you can go home - me and Eliza can handle it from here."

"Really?" Matt felt a burst of hot relief. "Thanks." With one last greeting they parted, and Matt knocked gently on the door.

"Mr. Bonnefoy?" he called, and within seconds the door was flung open.

Matt blushed. If possible, Francis was the most attractive drunk he'd ever seen. He'd taken off his jacket, loosened his tie, and kicked off his shoes. His blonde hair fell around his ears and he had a clear, open expression on his face.

"Ah,_ mon cher_, Mathieu!" he cooed, putting a hand on the door jamb to steady himself. His words were only a bit slurred; otherwise he had maintained his honeyed tone. "How nice of you to come see me, _bon soir_!"

"_B-bon soir_." Matt stammered.

"You should come in for a nightcap!" Francis suddenly said, and his arm shot out to wrap around Matt's waist.

"O-oh...no, I was just heading home, I stopped by to - ah!" Francis's fingers were kneading Matt's back with slow, sure presses, and the Canadian almost melted.

"Mr. Bonnefoy..." he managed, but Francis interrupted.

"I _insist_. Please, come in."

He began pulling on Matt, and the boy yelped as he almost lost his footing. "Wait, I'm carrying tea - " he protested, and winced as the liquid sloshed over the rim of the teacup, spattering his hands and forearms with hot liquid.

"Ouch." Matt hissed, and Francis gave an over dramatic gasp. This didn't stop him from pulling Matt all the way into his room and shutting the door behind him.

"_Je m'excuse_!" the Frenchman exclaimed, then before Matt's startled eyes dipped his head and put his mouth to Matt's tea-speckled skin.

"_M-Mr. Bonnefoy_!" Matt squawked. Francis made a disappointed sound in the back of his throat and lifted his head to meet Matt's eyes.

"_Non, non, non_." he breathed - Matt could feel it against his skin and it made him heat up. "How many _times_, Mathieu, must I tell you to call me _Francis_?"

"F-Francis!" Matt protested as Francis bowed his head again and began gently suckling on the skin between the younger man's thumb and index finger. In a surge of panic Matt yanked his hand back and wiped it dry on his shirt. Francis looked disappointed, before he spun on his heel and sauntered further into his room, his hips swaying deliciously. Matt's mouth felt cotton dry.

"Put that _tasse_ on the table, _mon petit ange_." the Frenchman gestured flippantly to the table by the chairs. Obediently, Matt placed the cup there, flexing his fingers nervously. He wasn't sure what to do.

"I - I just came to offer you a cup of tea." Matt had to speak loudly, as Francis was now rummaging in his bedside table quite noisily. "I should be going now - "

Francis whirled around and pointed a slim finger at him. "Mathieu, _stay_." he said firmly, teasingly. Matt frowned at the tone but stayed still.

Francis came back with something clutched in his hands.

"Did I ever tell you, Mathieu, how incredibly _cute_ I think you are in your uniform?" Francis asked lightly, stopping just before the distance became uncomfortable. Matt had to crane his head up to look at the Frenchman.

"Er...thanks, Francis." Matt gave him a weak grin, and Francis smiled back. He lifted his hand and cupped Matt's face, thumb running gently over his cheek.

Matt almost balked. "How much have you had to drink, Francis?" he asked softly.

"Not _nearly_ enough." Francis sighed. "Now, Mathieu, just stay still..."

"Wh - " Matt was cut off when Francis pulled a tie over Matt's head and attempted to tie it. Matt could _almost_ forget that Francis was drunk (pulled together as he was), except for when his fingers completely missed the fabric he was attempting to knot. Matt gently batted his hands away and reluctantly finished knotting the tie.

"Ah, I knew it." Francis took a few steps back, a lazy smile spreading across his face. "Blue looks so _nice_ on you."

Matt stood there awkwardly. Francis retreated back to his bed, flopped down on it, and put his head in his hands.

"Uh." Matt followed him, wondering if he'd done something wrong, and paused in front of his boss. "Should I leave? I should leave, I - oomph!" Matt's babbling ended in a squeal as Francis lashed out and wrapped his arms around Matt's waist, bringing him to stand in between his legs. Matt flung his hands up; they trembled, uncertain, in the air. Then, finally, he rested them on Francis's shoulders.

"Francis, what are you doing?" he sighed. Francis was nuzzling his face into Matt's stomach, humming to himself.

He was humming a children's folk song. _Fuck_.

Francis began speaking in French, long rolling syllables that sounded nice against his ears. Matt tried to focus on his voice, _not_ on the fact that Francis's knees were rubbing against his legs.

"Mathieu," he said. "I have not been able to keep my eyes off you the whole evening. You look wonderful." The Frenchman tilted his head up and smiled at him. "Give me a kiss, Mathieu."

"I can't." Matt ground out. "I can't, you're drunk, it wouldn't be - "

Francis tilted his head. "Oh, but Mathieu, I wouldn't mind it even if I was sober. So why can't you?"

_Because I'm a mole placed in your home_, Matt thought in frustration as Francis's hands slowly slid around to his front, began playing with the hem of his shirt. _Because I've been roped into robbing you blind, because I think I like you but Kirkland would kill me. **I** would kill me!_ A keening sound escaped his throat and Francis laughed into his belly button.

"If you do not wish to kiss me, Mathieu, you should tell me." he purred. "Then I would know that you are not just making excuses."

Matt ground his teeth. "I - you - "

"That's not a 'no'." Francis sang, grabbing one of Matt's hands and mouthing the digits deliciously. Matt shuddered, self-control inching towards its demise.

"What a lovely ring." Francis murmured, brushing his lips over it. "Where did you get it?"

_Fuck_. The ring. The camera. _Hell_. Matt pulled away suddenly as if stung, and Francis looked up at him, confused.

"Mathieu?"

No, no, no. _The camera_. Matt stammered, searching for words. "I - " Oh God. Keeping his hands away from any accidental touching, Matt leaned down and pressed a light kiss to the Frenchman's forehead, an unusually bold gesture that surprised _both_ of them. "I have to go. You should...you should drink your tea and go to sleep a-and I'll see you when I get back to work."

"_Quel dommage_." he heard Francis mutter as he retreated towards the door. "I was just starting to break through."

Matt tried to smile but it felt like a grimace, something cold and painful in his stomach. He was out the door, down the stairs and loitering in the driveway of the Bonnefoy villa calling Eduard before he could start to rethink his decisions.

_But the camera_, his mind reminded him. _What are you going to do about the camera?_

He'd have to tell Kiku. He didn't even _know_ Kiku, but he seemed more likely to understand than Arthur. Or Alfred. Or Ivan. Gilbert wasn't even _considered_ as an option to tell.

"I'm on my way." Eduard told him over the phone.

* * *

_Day off_. Matt had never been happier to remember those words when he woke up late the next morning, curled up under his covers with sunlight filtering through the curtains. He glanced at the clock - it was late, late enough that Alfred and Arthur would be done giving each other the awkward-uncomfortable-cold-shoulder and that Alfred would be less likely to try to corner him in the library again to give him a talk about "why Big Brother was Doing what he Did". Matt sighed and groped for his glasses - on the way his fingers brushed the ring on the table and knocked it to the floor and Matt squeezed his eyes shut. Of _course_ there was something to ruin his day off. Matt could only imagine what sorts of pictures the camera had taken last night - Francis drunk, Francis with his mouth on his hand, Francis standing close to him, hugging his middle, fiddling with his shirt...

Matt dragged himself up into a sitting position, heart clenched tight in his ribcage. He could fix this. It would be all right - because he _didn't_ like Francis, he told himself sharply as he rooted around in his suitcase for a pair of jeans (merciful jeans, he had hardly worn them at all since he had started trading them in for dress pants). He _couldn't_ like Francis, and that was that. It wasn't even because of the whole spy thing, he reasoned, wriggling into a shirt (okay, so it had almost _everything_ to do with "the spy thing"). It was because _one_, Francis was a rich playboy who probably did this sort of thing when he was drunk _all the time_ - Chelles and Elizaveta seemed rather wary of it, which Matt could only conclude meant that they had been on the receiving end of Francis's wandering hands. _Two_, he was a lot older than Matt, and he lived on the other side of the world from him.

There we go. _Plenty_ of reasons why Matt should stay away. It didn't make him feel any better about it though.

Matt was just squeezing some toothpaste onto his brush when there was a heavy knocking on his door. He _would've_ opened it, but Ivan let himself into the room without waiting for Matt.

"Matthew!" he exclaimed, tossing his scarf over his shoulder. "It is your day off, yes? I am here to take you to town!"

"Right now?" Matt managed between a mouthful of toothpaste. Ivan nodded.

"Yes, yes! I wanted to catch you before you made any other plans." That statement actually sounded like, "_I wanted to catch you before you escaped out the window to avoid going to town with me_" to Matt's ears, and he gave a sheepish grin.

(It wasn't like he'd been _seriously_ contemplating it...)

"Can you give me a moment?" he asked and swore when a bit of paste dribbled down his chin. "Uck!" he spat into the sink. Ivan laughed.

"I will be waiting outside with the car." he informed him, and left Matt's room. Matt wiped sourly at his chin with a grimace.

As soon as he was outside and in the car Ivan was off. Matt realized he hadn't yet had breakfast - which was probably a good thing, since Ivan drove like nobody else was on the road (nobody else _was_, yet, but Matt was willing to bet the streets of Marseille were not yet ready for the Russian).

"Wh-where are we going?" Matt wanted to know as the car trolled a residential street, Ivan hunched in his seat, searching for a parking spot.

"Out for lunch." Ivan replied coolly. "I know a good restaurant - _ah_!"

With a rather childish giggle, he swung into a spare spot, beating out a larger, more flashy looking vehicle. The driver looked almost violently offended until Ivan shot him_ a look_. Then he began reversing.

Ivan pulled himself out of the car, humming and twirling the ring of keys 'round his finger. Matt closed the door, straightened his jacket absently.

"Come, Matthew!" Ivan called to him. "I am very hungry!"

Matt hastened to catch up with the big man's strides, and when he was shoulder to shoulder (or shoulder to arm, since Ivan towered over him), the Russian threw an arm around him, drawing him in close.

"You will like this restaurant, Matthew!" Ivan assured him. Matt gave a nervous laugh, shrugging Ivan's arm off him.

"What is the matter?" Ivan questioned. "You did not do this with your boss in town as well?"

When had that sardonic tone crept into Ivan's sugar sweet voice? Matt opened his mouth. Then he closed it.

"Ivan, I think you've misunderstood." he began, but Ivan smiled down at him.

"Oh? I think _you've_ misunderstood." he informed the younger man. "You did not notice the way that..._man_ looked at you? You are treading in very dangerous waters, _дорогай_. I do not like seeing you so friendly with such an unsavory person."

"H-he's not _unsavory_." Matt retaliated without thinking, and Ivan arched his snow-pale eyebrows.

"Defending him, are we?" Ivan gave a mirthless chuckle. "Perhaps you did not learn your lesson, Matthew?"

Matt glowered up at him. "Maybe unlike you I don't feel the need to isolate myself from everyone in order to get a job done!" he snapped back.

"That is the only way!" Ivan barked, startling Matt. "If you allow yourself to get close, it will _eat_ at you! You will start to feel sympathy, and you _cannot_ feel sympathy for the target."

Matt tore his eyes from Ivan, looked resolutely at the ground. They had stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk, people swerving to avoid them. Suddenly he felt Ivan grab his chin, yank his head up.

"You will look at me when I am talking to you, Matthew." Ivan said coolly. "Now. Do you understand why I cannot let you continue to act so...close to this man?"

Matt bit his lip. Ivan's thumb pushed at his lower lip. "Well? I want an answer."

"Let go of me." Matt's voice was soft, but there was underlying irritation. Ivan didn't move.

"_дорогай_." Ivan breathed. "You know I have much more respect for _you_ than I have for your idiotic brother. I truly believe you could be an integral part of this team...if you would stop letting your feelings get in the way."

"Let go of me." Matt repeated, and this time Ivan dropped his hand, chuckling to himself.

"Your face is much prettier when you are speaking your mind." he mused. "Come, we will go to lunch."

Matt shook his head. "I don't feel hungry anymore." he murmured, and Ivan paused, cocked his head.

"But I am your ride back from town!" he pointed out. "It would do well to please your driver."

"I'll take a taxi back." Matt was in no mood to entertain Ivan right now, much less sit through lunch with him. Ivan's smile dropped a little.

"Matthew is sure?" he asked. When Matt nodded, Ivan shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets. "You certainly _sulk_ like your brother." he muttered at the last minute, and Matt shot him another glower before heading off in the opposite direction.

Matt's hands were cold, and he clenched them and released them methodically as he walked down the street in unfamiliar Marseille.

What did he just do? He wasn't even sure he had his wallet with him, he had just blown off Ivan (who had promised not to tell Arthur about his lunch with Francis), _and_ he still had those pictures of last night to explain. What was wrong with him? Usually he was able to sit still and smile blindly throughout anything anyone had to say to him. But whenever Ivan looked at him, whenever he opened his mouth and said something in that lilting, childish tone of his, Matt would get defensive. Especially so when he was taking shots at Francis.

There was a bench next to a fountain, and Matt sat down with a heavy sigh. What was he going to do? He hadn't expected any of this to happen. Granted, he hadn't expected the whole "oh-hey-Mattie-how-you-doing-help-us-with-this-heist" scenario but _this_? Crushing on the very person they were trying to swindle?

Matt groaned and leaned back against the bench, throwing an arm over his eyes. "What am I doing?" he asked himself.

"I don't know, but it looks pretty troubling." came an amused voice. Matt opened his eyes to see a tall man standing in front of him. He was slender and pale-featured, with a scruffy mop of light blonde hair and pale grey eyes. He was wearing a green shirt with the sleeves rolled up, jeans, and a beige apron. Next to him was a portable flower stall, teeming with brightly coloured flowers.

Matt grinned weakly. "Yeah, you could say that."

The man snorted and plopped himself down next to Matt. He was tall and lean, with gangly legs that splayed out in front of him. "_Tell_ me about it." he sighed. " 'Least you don't spend most of your week pushing a flower stall through this bloody city."

Matt laughed. "What, it's not fun?"

"Well..." the man laughed and turned his angular face towards him. "You know most girls don't really _dig_ the flower guy."

Matt laughed again and the man smirked. "There we go. I was beginning to think you were just one of those mopey poetry-writing guys."

Matt raised his eyebrows. "What a kind thing to say to a stranger." he quipped, and the man wrinkled his nose before sticking out a hand.

"M'name's Lars Van Rijn." he prompted, and Matt took his hand with a smile.

"Matthew Williams." he replied, adding, "Are you just introducing yourself so you can make fun of me, now that we're not strangers?"

"Damn, you caught me." Lars sniggered. "Nah, you seem like a cool guy."

"Well, thanks." Matt smiled. "So, Lars. You live here?"

"In Marseille? Yeah. I go to the University of Provence Aix-Marseille, getting my Bachelor of Arts. I'm originally from Amsterdam, though." Matt could tell - the man spoke with a heavy Dutch accent.

"How old are you?" Matt asked suspiciously. Lars stuck out his tongue.

"Now, now." he chided. "That's not polite to ask of a new friend so soon after meeting them!" Matt raised his eyebrows and Lars sighed. "Older than I like to admit." he conceded. "I...was originally in Sciences and got a degree there, but I didn't like it."

"Why not?" Matt pressed. Lars snorted.

"Buncha drones." he explained. "Totally not my style. So I went back to school."

"You can afford that?" Matt asked, surprised. He tried not to glance at Lars's flower cart, but Lars got the meaning anyways. He nudged Matt playfully with a bony elbow.

"Hey, hey, that's low. My parents help out, they're really cool with me going back to school."

Matt gazed at the flower cart, a faint smile on his lips. He could almost hear his brother's voice, hesitant over the dinner table: "_Mom, Dad. I, uh, I gotta talk to you about college._"

"_Sure sweetie_." his Mom, putting the fork down with a concerned look on her face. "_What's the matter?_"

"_It...it's just that I'm not sure this is what I want to do._"

"_Spit it out_." that was their father, brusque but caring in his own way, waiting expectantly for his eldest son to finish.

"_Iwanttobeapilot_."

"_I'm sorry? You want to be a what_?" Mom, biting back a grin.

"_I. Want to be. A pilot"_

"_Ah, I kind of thought so_." Dad, exchanging an amused look with his wife. "_Son, you don't have to be scared of talking to us. Whatever you want to do in life, you know we'll support you one hundred percent, right?_"

"_Right_." his brother, looking three parts relieved, nervous, and excited.

"_So? Where did you want to train? Here or somewhere else?_" his mother, leaning forward as Alfred launched excitedly into half-formed plans that he'd been thinking about for months.

"Hey, Matthew." Matt was pulled from his thoughts by Lars, who had thrown his arms across the back of the bench. "You okay?"

"Huh?! Oh, yeah! Sorry, I was just...remembering." Matt blinked a bit, before shooting Lars a reassuring smile.

Lars looked thoughtful for a minute. "You know what?" he declared. "You look like a guy who could use a break. You wanna come back to my place for a bit?"

Matt considered it, considered the friendly, smiling Dutch guy in front of him in an apron whom he had just met a few minutes ago.

_Well, as they say, when in Marseille..._

"Sure." Matt smiled. "Why not?"

* * *

Lars lived in the shadier part of town, and Matt kept close to the Dutch man as they squeezed down a side street with the bulky flower cart, and into a small courtyard surrounded by a wrought-iron fence. Lars chained the cart up to a tree, then fumbled in his pocket for a key.

Lars lived on the third floor, a small, rather cramped but airy apartment with a balcony that overlooked a relatively quiet street. Lars ran in ahead of him with the stern order to, "Stay out until I tidy up!" but Matt felt awkward standing out in the hallway by himself (Lars's neighbor, a severe-looking French woman with hair curlers, was glaring suspiciously at him in her bathrobe). When he came in Lars was scooping his boxers up off the floor while simultaneously trying to shut his closet with his foot.

"Oi!" Lars said as Matt closed the front door behind him. "Thought I told you to stay outside!"

"Sorry!" Matt apologized, awkwardly shrugging his jacket off his shoulders. Lars swooped in to take it from him, tried to clumsily fold it, and ended up depositing it on the coffee table, which was strewn with magazines in several languages and empty mugs.

"So, uhm...welcome to _chez Lars_." Lars spread his arms out triumphantly and Matt snickered.

"Oh, laugh all you want." the Dutch man glared at him, then sauntered over to the table propped up by the far wall. "Maybe I won't show you my surprise!"

_That_ peaked Matt's interest. "And what would that surprise be, eh?"

Lars spun on him with a serious expression. "First of all," he said, going over to the couch. "You're a cool guy, right? You won't take this the wrong way?"

Matt considered him for a moment. "You're asking _me_, a stranger you met on a bench and brought to your house, if I will take something the wrong way?" he asked incredulously. "The only way I could take _anything_ the wrong way is if you started undressing."

Then Matt clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes wide. Lars was laughing. "I - I'm _so_ sorry!" he gasped. "I don't know what came over me! That was really offensive - "

Lars waved his concern away. "Don't worry about it!" he chuckled. "I guess that's what I deserve. Sorta sketchy, this whole thing, isn't it? Though, seriously," he pulled off his apron as he spoke, "I sincerely doubt there is a big market for serial killers who work as flower boys. So. Sit."

Matt obediently sat down on the couch and Lars started rooting through the couch cushions.

"Fuck, where'd I put it..." the Dutch man was muttering. Matt looked on with curious interest. Lars flipped one of the cushions over, ripped open the Velcro, and dug out a bag of weed. Matt snorted.

"You've got to be kidding me." he protested, and Lars waggled his eyebrows.

"Is that a good sign?" he asked, shaking the bag as invitation. Matt scoffed.

"And _how_ exactly did you get that? Don't tell me you managed to bring it all the way from Amsterdam?"

"You crazy?" Lars scoffed. "You don't think there's pot in France? No, got this on the corner."

"Ah." Matt scooted closer as Lars pulled some paper and roaches from the same couch cushion and began to roll a joint. "So this is what you meant when you said I needed a break, eh?"

Watching Lars roll a joint was a thing of beauty - the Dutch man's fingers were deft and quick and before Matt knew it, the joint was being offered to him.

"You up for it?" Lars asked. Matt stared at it.

"Sure." he said finally, taking it from him. Lars raised his eyebrows.

"You ever smoked a joint before?"

Matt shook his head. "Does that matter?" he asked.

Lars laughed, the second joint already in the corner of his mouth. "Nah, you'll get used to it."

Lars passed him a lighter and Matt lit up.

It took him a while to feel the effects, which surprised him. He felt his muscles relaxing, drawing him further down onto the couch. Lars regarded him with smoky, half-lidded eyes and grinned.

"How you holding up, man?" the Dutch man asked. Matt frowned and wet his lips with his tongue. His mouth had suddenly gone irritatingly dry.

"Good." he answered, then added after a moment. "'M thirsty."

Lars practically leapt off the couch. "I got just the thing." Matt heard him go into the kitchen and rattle around in the fridge.

The Canadian put a hand to his head. "Damn." Everything was spinning sharply in his vision and he felt light-headed.

He was pretty stupid, he thought to himself as Lars bounded back in with two beers. Getting high in a stranger's house - although, this whole "vacation" had been about him doing stupid things, wasn't it?

"Hey, you're sure you're not a serial killer, right?" he asked Lars, accepting the beer with thanks.

Lars flung himself back onto the couch, propping his feet up in Matt's lap. "I solemnly swear." he held up his hand in a mock oath. "That I am _not_ a serial killer."

"Okay." Matt closed his eyes and tilted his head back, drawing another smoke. He opened his eyes again to ask, "Shouldn't we open some windows?"

"You ask the stupidest things." Lars grumbled, settling himself more into the cushions. He flopped his hand over the back of the couch, joint dangling from his fingers. "At the stupidest times."

Matt's hand felt detached from his body. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize." Lars kicked him. He wasn't wearing shoes and Matt pinched his big toe in warning. Lars wriggled it with a cheeky grin. "So-o-o, Matthe-e-e-w." Lars drew his name out annoyingly long until Matt pinched again. "Oi, okay! So, are you American?"

"Canadian." Matt corrected, but then felt the need to elaborate. "Well, my family spent half my childhood in America, and then the rest in Canada. But my older brother went to college in the U.S., so he always says he's American, but I guess I'm still Canadian..."

"That was a complicated answer, Matthew." Lars groaned. He had settled his head against the arm of the couch and now had one of his hands up above his head, tilting his head to examine his fingers. "Try to appreciate this weed instead of talking sense."

"_Talking sense_." Matt repeated, then giggled. "I like it."

"Hey, do that laugh again!" Lars was laughing too, pulling himself up into a sitting position. His toes nudged against Matt's leg. "That was cute!"

"Shut up!" Matt hurled one of the small cushions at him. It hit the Dutch man square in the face and he toppled over again. Matt crawled him.

"Oh _God_ are you okay?" he asked, plucking the cushion back. Lars grabbed the back of Matt's neck, catching him off guard. The Dutch man cackled wildly.

"Man, I should get you back for that!" he declared, though neither of them moved. Matt stayed poised over him, back curved, hands pressed into Lars's shoulders. Lars finally groaned, let his eyes slide shut, and Matt took the hint to right himself and shove himself back to his spot on the couch.

"Dude, I don't do this enough." Lars sighed. Matt tried to snort and instead made a sort of choky, wheezy noise.

"Get stoned? You seem to be good at it." he muttered, propping his chin on his hand. Lars gave him the middle finger.

"Jerk. I _mean_, hanging out with someone. Between studies and work, I don't get a lot of time to socialize with friends."

A pleased blush settled on Matt's face - or it might have been from the effects of the marijuana, he wouldn't put it past himself. "Are you gonna get in trouble, taking a break from your job to smoke weed?"

"Well, _yeah_!" Lars scoffed. "So don't tell my boss."

"Roger that." Matt laughed, leaning back against the couch.

It felt like _forever_ for the effects to wear off, Matt thought (though in reality it had only been two or three hours). During that time, he and Lars watched the news with rapt fascination, finished off a bag of chips they found squished in the back of Lars's cupboard, and talked about family (Lars had a sister named Bella who was studying medicine back in the Netherlands - "She's the genius child." Lars explained happily, with no trace of bitterness). Finally Matt assessed himself, and looked apologetically over at Lars.

"I should probably get going," he began, and Lars leapt to his feet.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to keep you!" the tall man raked a hand through his hair, flashing a sheepish grin.

"It's not problem, I...I had a lot of fun." Matt admitted, smiling shyly up at his new friend. "Thanks for the...break. And thanks for taking my mind off everything."

Lars looked at the Canadian fondly. "No problem. You're a cool guy, Matthew. I hope everything works out for you."

"I'm sure it will." Matt assured.

Lars was kind enough to walk him out of the apartment building after Matt used his phone to call a cab. Lars stopped to do a once-over of his flower cart while Matt leant over the wrought-iron fence and watched down the street for his ride. He jumped when Lars came up behind him and ground his chin down into the Canadian's shoulder.

"Ow! Lars!" he jerked his elbow backwards and dug it into Lars's ribs - the Dutch man jumped backwards with a laugh.

"Hey, just wanted to give you a parting gift!" Matt turned as the blonde pulled a bright yellow tulip from his cart and presented it to him.

"Thanks!" Matt felt a bright grin spread across his face. He grasped the tulip tightly in his fingers, marveling at the bright colour of the flower.

"It's so...yellow!" he offered helpfully, and Lars nodded.

"Yup. I love tulips, they're so vibrant!"

"Me too." Matt clutched the flower closer to his body and inhaled. It gave off a faint, fresh scent, and the knot that had settled itself in Matt's stomach since the morning released a bit. "Thank you again. For everything."

"You'll just have to repay me by visiting me again, while you're here." Lars said confidently, clapping Matt on the shoulder. As a cab pulled up in front of the apartment building, he added, "Take care of yourself. Keep your chin up. And don't worry."

"I - I will. Promise." Matt opened the gate, paused, turned his head. "And _you don't skip work any more to smoke up, okay?"_

"I can't promise that!" Lars gasped in mock-offense, splaying a hand over his heart. Matt merely laughed, tucked the tulip between his teeth, gave the Dutch man a wave, and hurried to meet the taxi.

* * *

_END CHAPTER THIRTEEN_

* * *

**Author's Note**: Uh, introducing my OC, Holland/Netherlands. I know Lars is a Scandinavian name, but I did the same thing as I did to Norway/Denmark/Iceland and it was high up in the popular names for the Netherlands and I...I sorta like it! So there you go. I didn't put Lars in just for kicks (well, not _solely_ "just for kicks"), he'll play a role later.

...A-and don't look at me like that! My ex-boyfriend smokes pot. I used to think he was the shit. Never actually smoked it, so excuse me if you read this and went, "This girl's a total cannabis virgin!" I TRIED MY BEST.

In my head canon Matthew totally becomes a cynical teenager when he gets high/drunk. All that shyness is just a front, I am telling you.

WOW this was a stupidly long chapter to write. I need to go to bed...


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Note:** Thank you as always for your kind reviews! They never fail to brighten my day, so you guys rock for writing them!

* * *

When Matt finally managed to get back to Arthur's villa, it was late and he had spent more money than he would've liked to on cab fare. It didn't help that as soon as he stepped out of the cab Alfred came barreling out of the doors, face bright red.

"Where have you _been_?" he demanded, grabbing Matt by the shoulders. Matt locked eyes with his brother and saw the worry in them.

"I - I'm sorry!" he apologized. "I don't know what I was thinking!"

"You weren't thinking _at all_!" Alfred growled, and threw an arm around his shoulders, dragging him into the house. "Arthur's about to blow a gasket and Ivan's saying something about you going out to lunch with Bonnefoy, and - "

"_What_?" that _snitch_. Alfred didn't hear his exclamation, too busy babbling to him.

" - and no one knew where you were and Ivan even drove around Marseille looking for you when we heard. Do you know how _big_ that city is?"

"Alfred, seriously, I'm fine." Matt pushed at his brother's arm insistently, and as Alfred let go, he heard an icy voice say, "You won't be fine in a minute."

Matt turned, caught the steely emerald gaze of Arthur and winced.

"Honestly, Matthew." Arthur began sternly. It was like his father had come back, only ten times more frightening. Arthur cut the perfect picture of angry British gentlemen, his hands clasped behind his back and wearing a no-nonsense suit and tie combo. "I expected better from you."

"I just needed some time to myself." Matt muttered.

"Which you could have gotten while staying safely in your room." Arthur countered.

"Ivan wanted to take me out for lunch," the Canadian tried to explain. "But then we got into an argument, and I - and I wanted to clear my head so we split up..."

"You had an argument?" Alfred repeated incredulously - he had rarely seen his little brother argue, and when he _did_ argue it was in a rather passive-aggressive manner. _Never_ to the point where he had to "clear his head".

"What was it that you disagreed on?" Arthur was asking Matt, who looked sheepishly at the ground.

"Oh, go ahead, Matthew." Ivan told the boy, gliding up behind him with a sort of smug smile on his face. "Tell them what the problem was."

Matt chewed on his lip, then lowered his eyes. "It was just...it was nothing." he finally admitted. "I lost my temper."

Ivan looked rather triumphant. Arthur, on the other hand, looked annoyed.

"You gave us hours of grief because you _lost your temper_?" he asked slowly, venomously. Matt recoiled.

"I said I was sorry." he murmured softly to the ground, and Arthur scoffed.

"If you think that's going to let you off the hook - " the Brit began, but Alfred stepped in.

"Hey, you know what, Arthur?" he said, curling his arm tighter around Matt's shoulders. "I think I'll take it from here."

"You..." Arthur trailed off in frustration. "Fine. Fine. But both of you better not be late for dinner."

Alfred nodded solemnly. Then, he said, "Let's go to my room, Matt."

Gilbert, unnoticed by everyone, sniffed the air in Matt's direction. "Why do you smell like _pot_?" he asked the Canadian rudely. Matt tried to give him a "shut-up-or-you-die" look over his shoulder as Alfred tugged him away.

Alfred was unsettlingly silent as they climbed the stairs to his room. When they had finally gone in and Alfred had closed the door he sighed, and leaned against it.

"Mattie." he groaned. "Seriously. Dad always said _I_ got all the stupid genes. Now you have them too?"

Matt tried very hard to keep the smile off his face. "Momentary lapse of judgement." he corrected. "I may have had a...momentary lapse of judgement."

"Just a fancy word for "stupid" Matt." Alfred declared, crossing his arms across his broad chest. "That's your denial talking."

Matt stuck his lower lip out experimentally, but Alfred was having none of that.

"Look, Matt, everyone was really worried about you. _Ivan_ was worried, you know how rare that is?"

_Ivan **started** this_, Matt thought sourly, sighing again.

"I know." he admitted. "I know, and I'm really sorry. It's just...this whole thing is sort of overwhelming for me. And - and I needed to get away for a bit."

Alfred's expression softened and a semblance of his usual grin began spreading across his face. "Why didn't you just _tell_ me?" he demanded. "You know I could've...we could've gone to town together or something."

Matt gave a laugh that was all too bitter for his tastes. "No offense, Al," he said. "But you seem a bit..._preoccupied_ lately."

Alfred's face readily descended into a dark blush. "H-hey, I was planning on explaining that to you!" he protested. Matt raised his eyebrows.

"I really don't think there's anything to explain." he pointed out. "It was, er. Pretty clear."

Alfred winced, ran a hand through his hair. "He was drunk," he admitted. "He just..._stumbled_ in there and started...you know." he waved his hand around helplessly. Matt found it almost comical, as his brother could usually always find something to say about anything.

"You didn't..." Matt let the question hang unfinished between them, and Alfred flushed frantically.

"Oh, no! _God_ no!" Seeing how his outburst could be taken the wrong way, Alfred began sputtering. "I mean, not like I don't like the guy - a-and not like I would ever take advantage of a drunk person! That's totally _not_ heroic, you know? B-but it's not like I wouldn't...do that...if he was sober..."

Matt stared incredulously. Then he opened and closed his mouth several times. "You...you _like_ Arthur?" he asked, and Alfred scratched the back of his neck.

"Ah. Yeah." he admitted, then mustered a glare. "But if you tell anyone..."

Matt held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "My lips are sealed!" he promised. "So you...what are you going to do about...?"

"_Everything_?" Alfred intoned, and collapsed in a chair, previous anger at his younger brother's antics temporarily forgotten. "I dunno. We got into a fight _before_ he, you know."

"Got hammered?" Matt offered helpfully.

"Yeah, that." Alfred nodded. "And now it's all awkward and junk. And I don't know what to do."

"Talk to him?" was Matt's suggestion. Alfred wrinkled his nose.

"He's _British_." the American snorted. "Stiff upper lip. All that. He won't talk about it, he just makes an excuse to change the subject."

"Ah." Matt furrowed his brow and picked at Alfred's bedspread. "Then maybe you should try _showing_ him?" he dared to put the idea out, and Alfred gave him a puzzled look.

"Whaddya mean?" he asked, and Matt groaned mentally.

_Seriously Al, do I have to spell it out for you_? he berated his elder brother in his head. "You shouldn't give him time to avoid you. Just catch him by surprise and then...show him what you think of him."

Something clicked behind Alfred's vision. Then he gave Matt such a "I'm onto you, pervert" look that the younger man blushed.

"Mattie!" his brother drawled in a voice that was bordering on a Southern twang, pressing the back of his hand to his head. "Now wherevah did you get such _filthy_ ideas? What do they _teach_ you in Canada?!"

"Sh-shut up!" Matt laughed, giving his brother a light shove. "You don't have to take my advice!"

Having doubled over to laugh, Alfred straightened up and grinned at Matt. "Naw, I'll try it. Why not? The least he can do is yell at me again."

Matt pursed his lips. "Yeah." he agreed absently.

"Hey, Matt." Alfred said after a few seconds. "You remember that time when we got lost in the woods? I was thinking about that the other day, when Ludwig was talking about camping."

Matt barely suppressed an eye roll. Matt had been fourteen at the time, and their parents had taken them practically across the country to Banff, Alberta in order to take in the Rockies. On a hike, Alfred had veered off the path because he thought he'd seen a bear (_why_ Alfred wanted to walk _towards_ a bear was beyond Matt), and Matt had followed him. They'd wandered, lost, until nearly dusk, when they realized they'd been walking in circles near their campsite and were promptly berated by their worried, frantic mother.

"I remember." Matt answered. "I don't know why I kept letting you get me into those messes."

_You **still** get me into those messes_, he added silently as Alfred smirked at the memory.

"C'mon, we made a pretty good team even when we were lost, didn't we?" he asked. Matt snorted.

"_You_ kept shouting stupid things about robots and _I_ was trying to remember what side of the trees the moss grows on."

"I don't even know _how_ that was supposed to help!" Alfred added, and Matt glowered.

"Was supposed to show us where north is. Or something." he muttered in defense of the moss. Alfred responded with a hearty laugh.

"God, Mattie, I've missed you!" he finally chortled. Matt's smile dimmed a bit, and Alfred sighed.

"I know, I shouldn't of waited until I needed a favor to call you." he admitted. "But I really did miss you! I was scared that you would be...disappointed in me. About what I did. And I would _never_," Alfred's eyes were genuine and honest, "Want you to be disappointed in me."

Sooner or later, Matt reasoned, he would have to grow a backbone when talking to his brother. "I'm not disappointed in you." he assured.

Alfred pumped his fist in some semblance of triumph. "Sweet!" he crowed, leaping to his feet. " 'Kay, I'm starving, let's eat! Oh, yeah..." he turned back to Matt and shook a finger at him. "Don't think you're off the hook for runnin' off like that!"

The way he was grinning didn't lend much to his statement, but Matt nodded cautiously all the same.

"Absolutely." he agreed, and followed his older brother's cocky saunter to the dining room.

Arthur gave him stern looks over the roast beef, but did not bring anything up in the dinnertime conversation - instead, Alfred filled most of the void with chatter, and Matt watched how _Arthur_ watched Alfred, fork poised in the air, an almost..._fond_ look on his face. Gilbert caught Matt's eye from across the table and made quite obvious motions at the Brit. Ludwig gave them both impassive stares. Matt was seated between Alfred and Kiku this time, and the Japanese man humored Matt with a bit of chit-chat before returning to eat his meal in silence. Matt could not imagine how he was supposed to approach the conversation about the camera.

_Oh hey Kiku, listen, you may come across several incriminating photos of me and my boss in that tiny camera you installed in my glasses. Would you be a dear and erase those for me before Arthur skins me alive?_

When dinner was cleared and the men were dismissed, Matt found the courage to catch Kiku by the elbow as he was leaving and murmur, "Mr. Honda, could I talk to you for a minute?"

Kiku gave him a once-over with his dark eyes. The brunette gave a slight nod and suggested, "Perhaps Matthew-san would feel more comfortable if we talked in my quarters?"

"S-sure." Matt agreed, and five minutes later he found himself standing awkwardly in the centre of Kiku's room.

"So, Matthew-san." Kiku said finally, breaking the silence. "What was it that you wanted to talk about?"

"I...wanted to talk about the camera." Matt began, wringing his hands. Kiku cocked his head.

"Ah."

"Yeah. I, uhm." the tips of Matt's ears reddened. "I sort of walked in on my boss while he was drunk and I don't want anyone to see what pictures it took because they're sort of embarrassing."

Was he mistaken or had a gleam appeared in Kiku's eye? "What _kind_ of pictures?" the Japanese man asked, reaching towards his suitcase and pulling out a laptop.

"Just...he was acting kind of...funny." Matt admitted. Kiku beckoned him to sit beside him.

Once he was settled, Kiku instructed, "Let me see your ring, please, Matthew-san."

Matt handed it over and Kiku withdrew from it a chip which he slid into his laptop.

"Let's just see." the Japanese man murmured, fingers flying over the keys. Matt watched with detached interest, hoping he could trust Kiku to simply delete the photos and not mention the incident to anyone else. This hope was quashed when there was a sharp knock at the bedroom door and Ludwig poked his head in.

"Excuse me, Honda..." he began, then caught sight of Matt. "Ah. Williams. Good evening."

"Good evening." Matt replied, inwardly wincing as the big, blonde German stepped fully into the room.

"I wanted to talk to Honda about...what are you doing?" As Ludwig approached, Matt noticed that Kiku's eyes were now glued to the screen, a smirk tugging at his lips. Both Matt and Ludwig leaned over to see the screen. Kiku was scrolling fast up rows and rows of pictures, and he stopped right at a picture of Francis, his eyes half-lidded with alcohol, arms wrapped securely around Matt's waist. Matt blushed.

Ludwig's eyebrows hiked themselves up his forehead, but he looked slightly amused. "Something you want to tell us?" he asked Matt.

"N-no! I - "

"Matthew-san tells me that he found Bonnefoy-san in a rather unfortunate predicament." Kiku explained, eyes now fixed on Matt with a teasing smile. "He wishes for me to delete the photos to save Bonnefoy-san's reputation."

"How kind of him." Ludwig hummed, somewhere above Matt - he had leaned over both of the shorter men in order to see the screen, hands dipping the mattress down.

"Matthew-san." Kiku didn't even turn his eyes from the photos. "Are you expecting me to just delete these without informing Kirkland-san?"

Matt's hands felt clammy. "Please." he said quietly. "I know - I know it's a really stupid thing to ask you, considering, well, everything. But it would really be a huge favor to me if you would g-get rid of them and not tell Mr. Kirkland?"

The two men were silent. Ludwig thinned his lips. "I don't know..." he trailed off, and Matt felt panic grip at his insides.

"Please." he added once more for effect. Kiku paused.

"I will not delete the photos." he began, and held up a finger as Matt opened his mouth to protest. "_But_." he continued. "I will keep them in a separate folder and will not mention their existence to Kirkland-san. Ludwig-san, will you agree to not mention this as well?"

Matt turned his pleading gaze to Ludwig, who met it with sharp appraisal. "Fine." he said finally. "I will forget this ever happened."

Matt practically deflated. "_Thank you_." he said honestly. "You have no idea how grateful I am!"

Ludwig graced him with a tight smile. "I can only hope," he grunted, "That you know what you are doing."

Matt gave a tight smile, but didn't say anything, because inside he was thinking the same thing as Ludwig.

_I hope I know what I'm doing, too._

* * *

For Matt, returning to work was a sort of dreadful, apprehensive thing. He saw neither hide nor hair of Francis as he arrived, but as soon as he was wrist deep in new soil helping Heracles plant flower seeds, Chelles appeared at the French patio doors.

"Matthew?" she called hesitantly - when he looked up, she wiggled her fingers at him. "Mr. Bonnefoy needs to see you. In the parlor. I'll leave you a towel." she draped it over one of the patio chairs and slipped back inside.

Matt excused himself from the flower beds with a promise to Heracles that he'd be back as soon as he could ("Thank the gods _someone_ does something around here." the shaggy-haired gardener exclaimed with a pointed look over at Sadiq who was, in his defense, doing an admirable job tackling the crawling vines on the side of the work shed).

Francis was sitting with his back to him when Matt entered the parlor, wiping his muddy hands with a hand towel. The Frenchman was shuffling through some papers, one hand holding a teacup. All the memories of that night flooded back and Matt ducked his head.

"You...wanted to see me, Mr. Bonnefoy?" he asked quietly.

Francis turned, and Matt was _amazed_ to see that the usually suave Frenchman actually looked...sheepish!

"Ah. Mathieu, right on time. Close the door, please, I won't keep you very long."

Once Matt had done as he was told, Francis rose and approached him.

"Mathieu, I must apologize profusely for my behavior the other night." the Frenchman even looked a bit _frantic_ this close up. He absently tucked his golden hair behind his ear. "I was completely out of line and embarrassed myself greatly. Can you forgive me?"

Something curious was bubbling up in Matt's throat. Relief, of course, that Francis was not _mad_ at him for anything. Forgiveness, readily, because everyone gets a bit stupid when they drink and Francis was no exception; and _disappointment_, the last feeling so great it made him a bit sick. Of course, he should have known that Francis didn't mean anything by his actions or his words. Why did it hurt so much when he was expecting it?

Matt realized he had gone a while without saying anything, so he choked out, "Of - of course. There's nothing to forgive. Sometimes people don't make any sense when they drink, I get - "

"Oh! No, you've misunderstood!" Francis stood a bit taller; that gleam in his blue eyes reappeared. Matt swallowed.

"I only apologized for making you uncomfortable," the Frenchman pointed out. "I never said I was lying."

"Wh-what?" Matt squeaked. His hands clenched, an involuntary reaction, and before he knew it his dress shirt was getting the _hell_ wrung out of it.

Francis stepped closer. "I meant what I said, Mathieu." he lowered his voice, backed Matt up until his back was a hair breadth's away from the door. "About not being able to keep my eyes off you. I only regret that I couldn't have told you in a...better state of mind."

"I...what does this mean?" Matt tried, lips working soundlessly for a moment.

"I would like it very much if you allowed me to take you out. On a _real _date, this time. Without any of your...large friends to distract us." A smirk coiled itself in the corner of Francis's mouth, and Matt furrowed his eyebrows.

"Honestly?"

"Honestly." Francis repeated, looking confused. "What, you think I am lying to you?"

"No!" Matt countered frantically. "It's just that...well, and you...I didn't really think..."

Francis laughed. "_Mon cher_, please calm down before you pass out." he suggested.

"Sorry." Matt apologized. "It's just...it's sort of complicated."

"Ah, I understand." Francis sighed, and for one awful moment Matt thought he _knew_. "I know I am your employer, Mathieu," he didn't notice Matt breathe a sigh of relief. "And I understand that you think this would be embarrassing, but rest assured my staff knows how to be discrete."

If by "discrete" Francis meant "gather-in-the-kitchen-and-gossip", Matt would have to agree.

"If you are willing, of course." Francis was saying as Matt brought himself back. "I have not even asked you your thoughts on this."

Thoughts? Did Matt have thoughts? All thoughts that had currently been occupying his head had been flung out when Francis reached out to run his hand from Matt's shoulder to his elbow, touch feather-light and very, very wicked.

"I..." Matt attempted to find his voice, ultimately deciding that _no_, he was not going to risk getting killed by Arthur just to go out on a date with a man he may or may not find extremely attractive. "Okay. One date." was what he said instead, and Francis's mouth curled up into a Cheshire Cat grin.

_Damn_. Matt was going to have to work on that too. "_Merci_," Francis purred as if _Matt_ was doing _him_ a favor (which he was! Matt argued, though not very convincingly). "You will not mind going out on Sunday?"

Five days away? Matt could handle that. "Sure." he said. The Frenchman looked surprisingly happy.

"_Bien_!" he gave Matt's elbow an electrifying squeeze, and stepped away from him in favor of grabbing a pen and paper from his desk. He scribbled down an address and handed it to Matt. "There's this restaurant called _Joie de Vivre_, lovely food. This is the address, if you want to meet me there for dinner."

Oh, a romantic dinner. This was perfect, just perfect. Matt could hear the ticking of the Doomsday Clock as it counted down the days he had to live, until Arthur would inevitably catch him in the act. "Sure." he repeated. "Is six okay?"

Francis beamed. "Of course." When Matt didn't say anything else, Francis leaned down to place a chaste kiss on the younger man's cheek, sliding them over to his ear in order to whisper, "I am already impatient."

Matt was at a loss. He helpfully offered an, "Er." which Francis seemed to find very amusing.

"You should probably get back to whatever it was you were doing." the Frenchman told him, adding slyly, "_Jusqu'à notre prochaine rencontre_, Mathieu."

"Y-yeah." Matt retorted, opening the parlor door. "See ya."

Stepping out, he nearly collided with Chelles and Elizaveta, who had crowded themselves out of sight around the door frame. Matt saved himself from giving a very manly yelp and waited until he closed the door to hiss, "What are you two _doing_?"

"Hanging out?" Chelles tried, leaning against the wall and attempting to look innocent. Elizaveta didn't even _try_ - a wicked smile on her face, she prodded Matt's chest with one sharp finger.

"Well?" she asked. "Spill."

Matt grimaced at her. "Spill _what_?" he asked. "There's nothing to spill. I promised Heracles I'd help him with the garden, so - "

"We told Heracles you wouldn't be coming back for a while." Elizaveta interrupted, and a rather maniacal glint appeared in her eyes. "So tell us."

Matt frowned. "If I tell you, you promise not to repeat anything?"

"Promise." the two girls chorused.

"You won't even gossip about it with the rest of the staff?" he confirmed dubiously.

"Promise." they repeated, with more difficulty (Elizaveta looked very disappointed).

"Mr. Bonnefoy asked me out on a date." Matt revealed, and shushed the two fiercely when they began to giggle and squeal and say things like, "_Totally. Called. It_!" "Oh, _whatever_ Eliza!"

"Look, it's not a big deal!" the Canadian insisted, tips of his ears turning red. "Besides, I don't think it'll work out..."

"_Of course it will_!" Elizaveta insisted fiercely. "You two would be so _perfect_ together!" she clasped her hands together and chewed on her bottom lip. "Are you _sure_ I can't tell anyone?" she whined. "Not even Tino? Tino's really good at keeping secrets!"

Matt, remembering how Tino had told them about Roderich's previous lover when Elizaveta was out of the kitchen, was not won over. "No." he said firmly, adding, "And _especially_ not your husband, he'd make piano strings out of me!"

Chelles nodded her agreement, and Elizaveta deflated with a sigh. "You," she declared, shaking a finger at Matt. "Are a hard bargainer."

Matt shrugged. "I know. Now, can I get back to the garden?"

"Yes, yes, yes." Elizaveta waved her hand carelessly. "Go and garden to your heart's content, sweetie."

Giving her an exasperated look, Matt left the two girls standing outside the parlor. When the coast was clear, Elizaveta and Chelles cracked open the door and gave Francis the thumbs up.

"About time!" Elizaveta told him bluntly. Chelles giggled. Francis gave them a lazy smirk.

"_Mes amis_, I was merely taking it at my own pace." he told them. With a playful roll of their eyes, Elizaveta and Chelles withdrew.

Smirking to himself, Francis leaned back in his chair and interlaced his fingers behind his head. What a shame, he thought idly to himself, that it was no longer possible for him to work on his documents! He was too preoccupied with the idea of Sunday evening, meeting Mathieu at the restaurant, sharing a bottle of wine, maybe even coaxing the little blonde out of his shell...?

Francis couldn't help a chuckle from escaping his lips. This was going to be fun.

* * *

_END CHAPTER FOURTEEN._

_

* * *

_

**Author's Note:** _Jusqu'à notre prochaine rencontre_ = Until we meet again.


	15. Chapter 15

**Author's Note:** Whenever I write "the Dutch man" I always think of Pirates of the Caribbean. Which makes me nostalgic.

* * *

Matt figured he would've gone stir-crazy in the five days leading up to his "secret" date with Francis Bonnefoy if not for Ivan's car, and Lars.

The men had began to busy themselves in the evenings with figuring out _how_ they were going to pull off this heist. With the pictures of the house from Matt's camera (mercifully absent of any drunk Francis pictures, Matt added thankfully in his head), Alfred was able to get a feel of the floor plan - Matt had heard Chelles complaining of the dreaded cleaning coming up, so he promised to get pictures of the actual room very soon.

This left Matt with a lot of free time. Not being part of the heist (and not _wanting_ to be), he found his evenings being spent alone. Using some sort of guilt trip on his brother that Matt didn't even know he possessed, he was able to spend most of his evenings in Marseille by taking Ivan's rent-a-car for the night.

Through a sheer stroke of luck, he had also managed to find his way back to Lars's apartment. The Dutch man had been genuinely pleased to see him, and gladly accompanied him in his exploration of Marseille, helpfully pointing out good nightclubs, bars, and places of interest. Matt liked hanging out with Lars; the Dutch man was easy to talk to, quick to try and make Matt laugh, and let Matt talk about his personal life without making fun of him or actually knowing who or what he was talking about.

There was no repeat of pot, for which Matt was glad, though they often ended up in a smoky bar debating endlessly over European versus Canadian beer (Lars had ended up coaxing a reluctant "this is really good" from Matt's lips, though the Canadian still felt he had to uphold his patriotic pride and did so with gusto). The Dutch man would then laugh and tease him, usually talking to him in Dutch - this annoyed Matt, as he couldn't understand him and suspected he was saying some questionable things to piss him off. Lars wouldn't repeat them in English, though, so Matt had to settle with slapping Lars on the shoulder whenever he said anything.

Come Thursday Matt found himself in a bar by Lars's house, sipping a Cola (this was the one of the nights he'd driven) and listening to Lars talk about his family in an increasingly accented voice. Matt had found that Lars had three levels of drunkenness - at first he became extra jovial; then he lost his balance; _then_ he became talkative but hardly understandable either because of his accent or the fact that he reverted to talking in Dutch.

"So-o, Mattie." Lars propped his chin on his hand, grinning at him. "What's up with you and your boyfriend?"

Matt flushed. "He's not my boyfriend!" he protested.

"Sure, sure." Lars's grin widened, and he tapped Matt's nose unsteadily. "The reason your ears are going red is because it's hot in here, right?"

Matt resisted the urge to clap his hands over his ears - that would've meant that Lars had one. "It _is_ hot in here." he grumbled in his defense. Lars laughed.

"_Je bent schattig als je boos bent_." he told Matt, who frowned.

"I wish you'd stop saying things I can't understand." Matt grumbled. "Or at least teach me the language."

"This is more fun." Lars assured, taking a sip of his beer.

Matt rolled his eyes at him. "I think you've had a bit too much to drink." he informed him, and Lars shook his finger at him.

"You're just saying that because we're talking about touchy material." he reminded him.

At his friend's words, Matt tried very hard to not think about Sunday, but it was difficult. Between his job, his brother and the fact that every time he talked to Francis he had to take his ring off, the "date" was usually at the fore front of his mind.

The day it was to take place, Sunday, Matt went to town in the early afternoon, after explaining to Arthur that _yes_, he was meeting a friend and _yes_ it was going to take the whole afternoon _and_ evening and _no_, Arthur, he was not selling his secrets or anything, where did he get that idea?

He knocked on Lars's door at about three and, after the Dutch man griped a bit about Matt interrupting his sleep, they went out for lunch.

"You really need to calm down." Lars told him, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes and picking at his panini with a bit of interest. "Seriously. This guy's going to think you're crazy if he sees how freaked out you are about this date."

"I'm not freaked out!" Matt protested. "I'm just...worried."

Lars licked his fingers. " 'Bout what?" he asked. Matt ducked his head in embarrassment, focusing on his meal.

"What if we have nothing to talk about?" he offered. "Or - or I make a fool of myself?"

Lars considered him over the rim of his glass. "You sound like a thirteen year old girl." he pointed out, and snickered when Matt started sputtering.

"It's a rational fear!" he objected, and Lars leaned over the table to put his hand on Matt's shoulder.

"Matt, you need to calm down." he said firmly. "If this guy asked you out, than that means he already thinks you're pretty neat. And you _are_. Pretty neat, I mean. So you'll have no trouble."

Lars looked a little pink in the face, and Matt smiled. "Thanks." he said sincerely. "I tend to worry a lot."

"I'd noticed." Lars replied dryly, waving off his thanks. "And don't. You'll be just fine. Woo him with your manly charms."

"My manly charms." Matt repeated with a snort, and Lars put his hands up in defense.

"Hey, don't knock it!" he exclaimed. "You've got a pretty cute face. Should try working it a little more."

Matt stared at him. "Lars, are you secretly a queen and I didn't know this?" he questioned. Lars made a funny face at him.

"You're going to slam me because I gave you a compliment? Man, you North American boys are _weird_." he declared. Matt stuck out his tongue, and promptly changed the subject.

"So, are you going to move back to Amsterdam after you finish school?" Matt asked Lars as they walked around Lars's neighborhood. The Dutch man shrugged.

"Maybe. I really like France, which is why I chose to study here. But the Netherlands is my home, right? So I don't know. I've still got a couple years to figure it out, anyways. What about you?" Lars looked over at Matt. "You going to stay in France?"

"No." Matt answered truthfully. "This is really just a...temporary thing."

"Well, then, you've got nothing to lose, haven't you?" Lars asked, thumping him on the back.

"Nothing to lose?" Matt repeated. Lars nodded.

"Yup. If you go out with this guy and totally embarrass yourself, you don't have to worry, right? Because you're only going to be here for a short while and after that you might never see him again! So you shouldn't be so antsy about it."

"I guess." Matt wasn't entirely convinced. He was never really good at not worrying about embarrassing himself, because he always felt self-conscious in public. It wasn't even a rational fear, because people tended to gloss over Matt when in a crowd, but screwing up in front of an audience always made him nervous.

Luckily, Matt had found, over the couple days he had been hanging out with Lars, that the Dutch man was very good at taking his mind off things and making him feel at ease. Lars had also picked up the weird habit of giving Matt a flower from his cart every time the Canadian came over. They were always different colours, and Lars told him that when he was a kid he studied "the language of flowers" (his mom was a gardener and his father had learned that by giving her flowers of different meanings he could almost always put her in a good mood).

On Friday he'd given Matt a variegated tulip, white with streaked red.

"It means you have beautiful eyes." Lars told him proudly, and he said it with such a sincere tone that Matt didn't feel embarrassed. Thursday it had been a white tulip, to apologize for teasing him about Francis.

On Sunday, after they had finished watching a movie at Lars's place and the Dutch man walked him out the door, Matt was presented with a red tulip.

Matt laughed, and took the tulip happily.

"I bet this is how you get _all-l-l_ the girls." Matt batted his lashes playfully at Lars, and missed the flush that spread quickly across the Dutch man's face.

"Well, you know!" Lars laughed a little too loud. "I'm an expert on the language of flowers. It's how I send my messages."

"Ah, really?" Matt looked interested, staring down at his beautiful red tulip. "What's a red tulip mean, then?"

Lars cleared his throat. "...Oh! Man, totally slipped my mind. Sorry. Something to do with...happiness or something."

"Oh." Matt frowned. "Okay." he dipped his nose briefly towards the tulip, reveling in its faint smell, as always, and smiled up at his friend. "Well, I should probably get going. Thank you for the flower."

"_Veel geluk_." Lars told him solemnly, ruffling his hair. Matt glowered at him.

"If you don't start translating, I swear I'm going to start learning Dutch while I'm here." he threatened, and Lars snickered.

"It means, 'good luck'." he said, adding, "Not that I think you'll need it."

Matt couldn't help the smile spreading over his face. "Thank you." he repeated. "For everything."

"You can thank me," Lars called as Matt started off down the street. "By giving me all the juicy details, later, okay?"

Matt merely laughed and waved. He was actually thinking that he would mention this to as few people as possible, but he had come to respect and like Lars and probably wouldn't mind talking to him about it.

It was nearly six. The restaurant was only a short drive from Lars's house. Matt parked two blocks over and took his time walking there, dragging his feet and twirling the tulip between his fingers. His stomach was doing flip flops, and he stopped several times to peer into shop windows while not really looking at anything.

Matt happened to be punctual to a fault, though, so despite all his distractions he still managed to find himself at the front of the restaurant at exactly six. Francis was waiting for him, dressed in a dark suit jacket despite the heat. His eyes lit up when he saw Matt.

"_Bonjour_!" he greeted, and kissed Matt chastely on the cheek. Matt flushed.

"H-hello!" he greeted. "How are you?"

"Wonderful, now that you've arrived." Francis flashed him a grin, and nodded at the tulip in his hands. "I thought I was supposed to get _you_ flowers, _mon cher_."

"Oh!" Matt looked down. "No, this is...from my friend. I was visiting him before I came here and he always gives me a tulip. It's sort of his quirk."

"Ah." Francis looked a bit put-out. "Well, I wouldn't want to be out-done by your secret admirer, now would I?"

"What do you mean?" Matt asked. "He's just my friend."

"_Mon cher_, giving someone a red tulip is a declaration of love." Francis reached out to stroke a petal. Matt flushed.

"Well, he said he'd forgotten what it meant!" he reasoned. "So he probably meant it as something else."

"Hm." Francis frowned, and Matt couldn't repress a smile.

"What, are you jealous?" he teased, and Francis smirked, reaching for Matt's hand, thumb stroking the inside of his wrist.

"I would not want to lose you before the date even starts!" he declared. His other hand, having been behind his back, appeared with a rose. Matt laughed; he couldn't help it.

"Do you _always_ carry roses with you?" Matt joked, accepting it in the same hand of the tulip. Francis looked proud of himself.

"There. I have effectively "one-upped" your admirer."

Matt rolled his eyes, about to tell him again that Lars was _not_, in fact, an "admirer", but Francis offered him his arm.

"Are you hungry?" the Frenchman asked him, and Matt shyly slipped his arm through Francis's.

"Yeah." Matt replied truthfully. "Will you...uh...recommend something for me?"

Francis's eyes lit up - if there was one thing Matt knew about Francis, he loved recommending things to people, showing off his expertise in culture and food.

"Of course!" he exclaimed, reaching out to brush Matt's hair off his face. "This is one of my favourite restaurants, I know a few dishes you might like."

In the end, Matt's nervousness disappeared by the time the wine came. Francis's charm put him at ease immediately, and he found himself sincerely interested in the conversation - in fact, he was surprised to learn that he and Francis shared similar tastes in literature (Alfred had teased him when he was younger for liking the Brontë sisters, and although Francis tried to keep up the appearance of being purely Francophone, he was all too eager to discuss with Matt about which sister was the best - he was also quite interested in Matt's enthusiasm for Albert Camus).

At the beginning Francis was reserved, folding his hands under his chin when he wasn't eating. Gradually, however, his hands inched across the table. Matt tried not to notice, blushed when Francis's fingers brushed against the back of his hand. He glanced at his hand; then up at Francis. The look in the Frenchman's eyes was one that Matt couldn't decipher, and it made him feel - self-conscious? Wanted? Whatever the case, it made Matt's stomach erupt in heat, and he didn't move his hand away.

Francis entertained him with stories of his schooling and his family - his father had apparently been quite the womanizer, despite Francis's mother being a strict, frightening sort of woman. Matt could see the wistfulness in Francis's eyes, and although the Frenchman's stories of his father's escapades were often told with disdain, Matt could see that Francis genuinely cared for his father. In return, Matt offered stories of his own parents, and even a bit about his brother - though he didn't mention names. Francis seemed quite interested in his family.

"Ah, Mathieu." he sighed. "You are so lucky to have grown up with such a close family. My parents were hardly around, I envy you."

After dinner they took a walk to a nearby park and sat there on a bench for a bit under the glow of a street lamp. Matt was telling him a story about his brother when they were both younger, and when Francis interjected with a witty comment, he rested his hand on Matt's thigh.

The Canadian could feel the heat of Francis's palm through his slacks, and he looked up.

"Francis..." he started. Francis leaned forward until their noses bumped.

"May I kiss you, _mon cher_?" he whispered in a gravelly voice so unlike his normal tone. Matt sat, frozen, staring into Francis's horribly, wonderfully blue eyes.

"S-sure." he barely managed to get out before their lips met, Francis sliding over on the bench so their legs were touching.

Matt had been kissed a couple of times before. He had even had a girlfriend before (though that was in the seventh grade and had lasted all of two weeks). This, however..._this_ put everything Matt had ever known about kissing to shame. Matt concluded that Francis was now a stereotypical Frenchman - Francis's hands slid into Matt's hair, cradling his skull gently as his lips delved deeper. Matt could smell his cologne, taste the wine that still lingered on his lips; without thinking he made a little noise and shifted closer to Francis, hands unsure of what to do and finally resting on Francis's knee.

Francis's lips quirked upwards into the kiss and he pulled away. His tongue darted out to lick his lips and Matt shivered.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that, Mathieu." he purred, and Matt laughed shyly.

"The feeling's mutual." he assured, eyelids fluttering slightly as Francis's fingers, still twined in his hair, began pressing, massaging his scalp gently.

Francis grinned a Cheshire Cat smile, then leaned in again.

(In Matt's defense, he could hardly remember his own _name_ let alone Arthur, Alfred, and his "job" when Francis kissed him again).

* * *

Francis was nice enough to walk Matt to his car. Once he had come down from his high, the Canadian was wracked with guilt. What was he doing? He couldn't continue this...this was wrong and was going to come back and bite him in the ass in the end. But...Matt sighed, running a hand through his hair. _Damn_ if Francis wasn't making him take risks. Francis looked over at him and coyly slipped his arm around Matt's waist. It was a feather-light touch, but it jolted Matt back into reality.

"Which one is your car?" Francis asked, and sheepishly Matt pointed it out. Francis waited patiently as Matt fumbled for his keys and unlocked the car.

Then the Canadian turned to his boss and said softly, "Th-thank you for taking me to dinner. I had a great time."

"Mmm. Me too." Francis agreed, and he leaned down to bestow a small kiss to the edge of Matt's jaw. Matt tensed, hand on the door handle. "I hope," Francis said in between kisses, trailing across Matt's jaw line and down his neck. "That you will allow me to take you out again in the future."

"I - " Matt began, hand going uselessly to Francis's arm and pulling him closer instead of pushing him away like his common sense was telling him to. Francis welcomed the encouragement, trapping Matt against his car. "Francis, you're my boss." he tried.

Francis withdrew, head cocked. "Yes." he agreed. "But believe me, that is the _least_ of my worries."

"Oh." Matt blinked, keeping his hold on Francis's arm. "Why wouldn't you worry about that?"

Francis smiled, and brushed his fingers through Matt's hair again. "Because I'm not Edelstein." he explained. "And I think, if I am attracted to someone, I should pursue that interest regardless of what job one has."

Matt flushed. _I would beg to differ_, he thought as Francis stepped back, allowing room for Matt to breathe. Or escape. Or swoon. Any combination of the three.

"I - I'll see you at work, then." he stammered. Francis tilted his head and gave a small smile.

Gathering his courage, Matt lifted himself up and kissed Francis on the mouth. The Frenchman looked genuinely startled. Then he gave a rather feral grin, swooped Matt up in his arms and planted one on him. Matt squeaked at his enthusiasm.

"Finally." Francis murmured. "I thought you'd never respond."

Matt laughed again, a little less nervously this time.

"Good night, Mathieu." Francis held the car door open for him. "I had a wonderful time."

"Y-yeah. Me too." Matt replied sincerely. With one last wave, Francis closed the door and stepped back onto the sidewalk to allow Matt to drive away.

Matt stayed on cloud nine all the way back to Arthur's villa, his head spinning. If he dipped his nose to his collar, he could still get a whiff of Francis's cologne.

It was official. He was screwed. He parked the car around the back, crept into the house. Arthur, Kiku, and Ludwig were all playing cards in the parlor, and Matt poked his head in to greet them.

"Did you have fun?" Arthur asked him, eyebrows quirked curiously. Matt let out a sigh before he could stop himself.

"Yeah." he admitted. Kiku gave him a strange look, and Matt was quick to say goodnight and make his way upstairs.

Alfred was in his room with Gilbert - the two of them had hooked up a gaming system to the television and Gilbert was in the middle of thrashing Matt's brother in Super Smash Bros. Melee.

"_FUCK YOU KIRBY!!_" Alfred bellowed, pushing buttons furiously. Gilbert was laughing at Alfred's attempts. Neither of them noticed Matt, so he simply smiled and left them to it.

"Jeez," Matt exhaled, muttering to himself as he opened the door to his room. "This is getting complicated."

"Is it?" Matt froze, and looked up. Ivan was sitting quite comfortably on Matt's bed, looking ambiguously cheerful and icily terrifying. Matt instinctively took a step backwards.

"Ivan!" he exclaimed. "Hi. How are you?"

"Just fine. I haven't seen you all day." Ivan got to his feet, approaching him. In one movement he leaned down and sniffed at Matt's shirt. Matt could smell the alcohol on his breath, and pushed at him.

"What are you doing?" he demanded.

"Very nice cologne." Ivan remarked, straightening Matt's collar. "I don't remember you ever wearing that."

Matt was silent, but inside his brain was racing.

_My life sucks._

* * *

_END CHAPTER FIFTEEN_

* * *

**Translations:** Je bent schattig als je boos bent - You are so cute when you are angry

**Author's Note:** I feel like Matt would totally read the Brontë sisters when he thought no one was looking. He'd curl up by the fire with Kumajirou and read _Jane Eyre_ and sigh romantically sometimes.

Which is lame, because I dislike both_ Jane Eyre_ and _Wuthering Heights_ immensely. Just. No. My twelfth grade English teacher was one of those hard core romantics, right? We watched the movie adaptation of Jane Eyre as our "Film Studies" portion. I made fun of it too much and got kicked out of class.

Also, giving someone a red rose is a declaration of love. Which doesn't actually "one-up" the meaning of a red tulip, but thanks for trying Francis!


	16. Chapter 16

**Author's Note:** Did you think I was dead? Ohohoho no my friends, it's just a little thing known as MY FIRST YEAR OF COLLEGE and basically it is playing rugby with my brain. On the bright side, I am taking a very interesting course on British history that is keeping my mind in Hetalia mode. Sort of. On the other hand I'm worrying about the inevitable research paper. BUT. ANYWAYS.

Please excuse the shortness of this chapter - I don't like having really short chapters for some reason, but I really wanted to update so I cut it off. I promise I'll try to have more regular updates! Thanks for sticking with me!

Er, and, um, the next chapter may have some _questionable material_ that will start bumping this story's rating steadily higher...

* * *

_"Very nice cologne," Ivan remarked, straightening Matt's collar. "I don't remember you ever wearing that..."_

_

* * *

_

Matt stepped carefully away from the large Russian. "I was visiting a friend," he half-lied. "Sometimes he wears a lot of cologne. It must have rubbed off on me."

"You've already made _friends_, Matthew?" Ivan cocked an eyebrow. "Such a social creature."

"It _is_ possible." Matt shot back. "I've been spending a lot of time in town."

"And this friend, he is the reason you have been spending so much time away?" Ivan inquired.

"Look, I don't understand what the big deal is." Matt huffed. "So I made a friend. What's the point of getting so worked up about it?"

"Because I have told you." Ivan responded. "I know what it's like to be alone. And when you get into the criminal business, you will most certainly always be alone. The regular people, they will not understand what you are trying to do."

"I'm not a criminal." Matt protested quietly, and Ivan laughed.

"You really cannot use that excuse anymore, Matthew." the Russian advised him. "You are assisting in a heist. Like it or not, you are a part of this."

Ivan leaned closer - his hands came to rest softly on Matt's shoulders. "Why do you think our Ludwig's only romantic interest is another criminal, hm?" he whispered. "Believe me, you will find that it is hard to relate with the "normal" people after this."

"I'm not a criminal." the Canadian repeated with a hiss - he flinched when Ivan reached out to cup his face.

"Oh, _дорогай_." he murmured. "You _are_ a criminal. Just accept it."

"Leave me alone." Matt commanded, and Ivan gave him a sort of arrogant half-smile.

"Making me go away does not fix your problem." the big man reminded him.

"It's a big part of it." Matt shot back, and Ivan frowned.

"Your temper is no longer amusing me, Matthew." he told him. "I will say this once more - you are getting in over your head, yes? It would be better for you to cut ties from your friend and focus on your job, or you will find that things can quickly go downhill."

"Why do you care so much, eh?" Matt asked him, relieved when Ivan took a step back from his personal space. Ivan smiled, stroked a hand absently over his ever present scarf.

"Because I think you and I could be _very very_ good friends." he hummed. "You will remember, of course, that I am _also_ a criminal." he stepped back, and gave Matt a chilling smile. "Good night, Matthew."

Matt hadn't realized he was holding his breath until Ivan left - he let it out in a rush of air, feeling drained and tired. He could barely be bothered to take his clothes off to slip under the covers, leaving them strewn around the floor.

Hopefully, tomorrow would be better.

* * *

"Are you sure, Matt?" Chelles asked him worriedly for the umpteenth time. Matt grimaced.

"I told you, I'm fine! It's my pleasure. You don't seem to be enjoying it very much and - " here the Canadian lowered his voice. " - I'm kinda curious to see this _room_."

Chelles laughed reluctantly. "It's really not that exciting." she assured him. "Just a room full of dusty old stuff. But I appreciate you taking my place, nevertheless. It's just such a boring job!"

"No problem." Matt assured her.

_How_, Matt thought, had he gotten so sneaky? He thought it would be suspicious if he had offered to help Aron with the cleaning instead of Chelles - he thought Chelles would refuse to let him help. But everything had gone off without a hitch. It kind of made Matt feel..._proud_, that he could accomplish this much.

"Here he comes." Chelles nodded at a man strolling towards them down the hallway. He had pale, almost white blond hair, a bit of it flicking up at the sides. He was dressed in a brown suit and had an almost expressionless look on his face. "I'll go talk to him."

Matt waited while Chelles approached the man - Aron - and engaged him in quiet conversation, motioning to Matt from time to time. Matt stood there, feeling self conscious, wringing his hands. The ring on his finger glinted ominously and he glared at it, willing himself not to think of the task ahead.

With one last joyful giggle, Chelles led Aron over to Matt.

"Matt, this is the cleaner, Aron." she introduced. "Aron, this is Matt."

Aron looked Matt up and down, the same placid look on his face. "Nice to meet you." he said.

"Y-yeah! You too." Matt replied.

"Well, I'll leave you two to it." Chelles interjected, backing away from them. "See you later, Matt! Bye Aron!"

"Bye Chelles." Matt called as the girl left them. Aron turned an impassive eye on him.

"I need to collect my supplies from my car." the man intoned, and Matt obligingly followed him outside. Aron's car was one of those compact European models, parked just inside the front gates. Aron scowled when he saw a tall, spiky-haired man waiting for them, leaning up against the trunk of the car.

"Hey!" the man greeted cheerfully as they approached - he was wearing black suit pants, a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and a small black cap perched in his tangle of hair. "Aron, long time no see! I _thought_ this car looked familiar - you haven't upgraded yet?"

"No." Aron replied shortly. His curt answer did nothing to affect the other man's bright grin. Matt studied him. He had met Mikkel, Francis's chauffeur, once before. He doubted the man remembered him.

"So where's Chelles?" Mikkel asked, suddenly looking at Matt with interest. Aron nodded at Matt as he unlocked the trunk.

"Matt is filling in for her today." Mikkel graciously moved so Aron could open the trunk. The chauffeur smirked at Matt.

"Matthew right?" he confirmed; when Matt nodded, he grinned. "I remember you. You the guy Lizzie's always talking about?"

"Depends on what she's said." Matt countered, and Mikkel chuckled.

"Good answer." Mikkel looked him over. "_That_ depends on whether or not you approve of a little work gossip."

Aron raise his head from within the trunk, a spark of interest on his face. Matt crossed his arms defensively.

"Well, I've heard a lot about _you_, too." he pointed out. "So maybe we should keep our gossip to ourselves, eh?"

"_He~_? You've heard of me?" Mikkel prodded him. "Spill!"

Honestly, the only thing he'd heard about Mikkel was the gossip about him and Jan _and_ stories about that one time Mikkel and Francis had gotten drunk off their asses and had pestered Roderich until the musician had almost punched his boss out.

Matt tilted his chin up. "Not telling." he announced. Mikkel pouted.

"So mean." he lamented. "Aron, why do you always pick people as mean as you are? At least Chelles was nicer."

Aron handed Matt a box and returned to the trunk. "Don't pay attention to him, Matt." the stoic man sighed. "Just because Mikkel hasn't progressed beyond the second grade in mentality doesn't mean the rest of us have to act like him."

"Ouch." Mikkel pouted, slinging an arm around Aron's shoulder in a grip that did not allow the smaller man to escape. "Why so harsh?"

"It's the truth." Aron replied evenly. Mikkel scowled at him.

"Oi." he pouted. "I don't know why you grew up to be so angry. You were such a cute kid~!" he nuzzled Aron's neck and the white haired man flushed. With a sudden burst of strength he shrugged Mikkel's arm off him and grabbed Matt's elbow.

"I have to go do my job." he sniffed. "Come along, Matt."

"See you later, Mikkel." Matt called to the spiky haired man. Mikkel put his hands on his hips and watched the two retreat.

"What was all that about?" Matt asked as Aron led the way back into the villa, still gripping Matt's elbow. Aron shot him a look.

"I've known Mikkel for a long time." he offered cryptically. "He hasn't changed, which isn't a good thing."

"Oh." Matt cocked his head, noting that the flush in Aron's face had not gone down. "Okay. But can you let go? This box is slipping."

Aron released his arm with a quiet apology and led the way up to the second floor. They passed Tino, who gave Matt a strange look - apparently _not_ seeing Chelles tagging after Aron was an unusual sight in this household.

Aron gave him a quick talk before they entered the room. "Don't touch anything." he instructed. "Don't try to help clean. If I need your assistance I will ask for it."

Matt nodded to show he understood, grasping the box of cleaning equipment securely. Aron looked satisfied, then turned and blocked the door from Matt's view, unlocking it, punching in numbers. Matt tapped his pinkie finger against the ring on his finger and waited.

When the door swung open and they stepped inside, Matt almost forgot to take pictures - but after his shock wore off he tried to look everywhere at once.

The room was smaller than Matt had thought from seeing the photo, but it was as dizzyingly amazing in person. Every available space was utilized to display _something_ - an ornate armoire, a ceiling high bookshelf crammed with gilded spines, an oil painting hanging in a luscious wooden frame. Matt remembered just in time to move his head slowly as he took everything in, brushing his ring in a constant motion.

"Can I look around?" he asked Aron, who shrugged reluctantly.

"I guess. Just don't - "

"Touch anything. I get it." Matt assured him, and stepped around Aron as the pale haired man knelt to open his box of cleaning supplies. Matt took his time making a rotation of the room, staring steadily at everything, altering angles. He himself was taken in awe of everything Francis had stuffed into this little room - from books to clothing to drapes to paintings to furniture to even a medieval suit of armor standing, polished, in the corner.

Matt paused when he came to a faded, folded handkerchief, spotted with dark stains, shielded by a glass case. There was a little placard tacked under the glass case - "_Le Sange De Louis XVI_" - and Matt felt his jaw drop.

"I - is this what I think it is?" he asked. Aron meandered over and glanced briefly at the placard.

"Yeah." he said, without enthusiasm. "It is. Must cost a fortune."

"I - yeah!" Speechless, Matt practically drummed his finger against his ring before moving on.

The sheer extravagance of the room was making Matt's head spin. He was afraid to touch anything. Even the carpet looked horribly expensive. A dirty footprint must be agony to get out.

"Why would someone have all this stuff?" Matt wondered aloud, and flushed when Aron turned to look at him. "I - I only meant that if, er, if I were rich, I wouldn't bother buying expensive things and then putting them in a room where no one can see them."

Aron cocked his head, then smiled. "No, I agree." he assured. "I never understood these rich men." his tone held a note of bitterness. "All that they do, they do to _impress_, Matt."

Matt frowned. "How do you mean?" he asked.

There was something icy hiding in the corner of Aron's smile. "All these parties they throw, the company they keep, the things they buy, are all to impress. They don't _want_ this stuff. Bonnefoy keeps these treasures locked away so he can lead people here and amaze them." Aron sighed. "These rich men care only about pretenses. I care little about them, because of this."

Matt continued to frown as Aron turned from him to attend to the cleaning. He did not think Francis fit the description Aron described - sure, Francis was..._attractive_, and he took great pride in his appearance, but Francis was also smart, had a strong personality. But looking around this sickeningly garish room, doing nothing but collecting dust, window drapes drawn to protect against the sun, Matt could not help but feel irritated at the sheer _expense _of it all.

"Do you need me to help with anything?" Matt asked, seeing the way Aron leaned over a small side table with a frown.

"Can you lift this for me?" Aron motioned to the table. "I need to clean underneath."

Matt lifted and held the table as Aron polished the legs. It took agonizingly long to clean the small room, and Matt wondered how Aron did it - the pale haired man spent most of the time hunched over, scrubbing and cleaning and polishing. His back must be killing him, Matt thought.

He helped Aron pack up his supplies and took one last look around the room.

_This_ is what he flew so many miles for? _This_ is what his brother was being paid to steal, what Matt was betraying Francis for - ?

_No_. Matt shook himself and followed Aron out of the room. He didn't owe Francis anything, nor was he _betraying_ him. He was doing his job. _He was doing his job._

Aron turned to him when they had gone back out to his car and loaded it with his supplies.

"Thank you for your help." he said politely, offering his hand. Matt took it. Aron's skin was cold to the touch.

"It was my pleasure." he replied sincerely. Aron was a little quiet, a little odd, but seemed like a nice man when you got down to it.

Aron gave him a little smile, which dropped immediately when Mikkel, who had been washing Francis's car nearby, gave a shout of greeting.

"I'll see you around, I'm sure." Aron finished by way of a goodbye, and hurriedly climbed into the car. Matt laughed, waved, and then headed back to the house.

"Don't just _drive away_!" he heard Mikkel bellow behind him. "Why can't you say goodbye like a normal person?!"

Matt was still lost in thought as he climbed the staircase to the second floor of the villa, thinking about...well, everything. He wondered if Arthur would follow through on his threat if Matt caught the next plane back to Ottawa - he could certainly access his bank funds from here, and he could manage the flight back since Alfred had paid for his ticket here.

Matt was so engrossed in his thoughts that he bumped into somebody halfway up the stairs. He gave a little exclamation and began to fall backwards, but the _someone_ wrapped a strong arm around his waist and pulled him towards them.

Matt regained his balance with a sputter, bracing his hands against the person's chest. "Sorry!" he apologized in a high, breathless voice. "Thanks for catching me, I - "

"I never knew you to be so _careless_, Mathieu." the person's amused voice purred, and Matt looked up into Francis's eyes.

"O-oh!" he exclaimed. "Francis, hi..."

Francis kept his arm securely around Matt's waist, and gave him a grin. "Hello yourself." he replied. "Forgive my pun, but I was expecting to run into you again, though not in such an unconventional way."

Matt wrinkled his nose. "I won't forgive you because that was a horrible pun." he declared, stepping away from the man, steadying himself on the banister.

Francis chuckled. "I guess I deserve that." he admitted, then asked, "Where are you headed?"

Matt shrugged. "Nowhere in particular. I just finished an errand."

"Ah!" Francis's eyes lit up, and he motioned with his hand. "Then perhaps you would be willing to help me with a little dilemma?"

Matt started to get suspicious. "Sure." he answered warily, and as Francis indicated that he should follow him, he asked, "What do you need help with?"

"I will tell you when we get there, _mon cher_, do not be impatient!" Francis trilled as he led him towards a very familiar place - the Frenchman's quarters.

It looked the same from when Matt had been there the last time; Francis flicked on the lights, went straight for the decanter. Matt hovered at the entrance of the room, steeling his will to tell Francis no. In the little sitting area there was an elaborate chess board set up. The pieces were polished wood and were immaculately lined up, facing each other, ready.

"Antonio was supposed to play a game of chess with me," Francis explained as he set two glasses of something down beside the board. "While he was here, I mean. But then his little lover called all the way from Italy and he had to rush back. Do you know how to play chess, Mathieu?"

Matt raised his eyebrows, remaining in the doorway. "Francis, I don't think asking me to play chess is part of my job description." he informed him lightly. He was only half-joking. He had to do this, he reasoned, had to stop doing such familiar and friendly things with Francis before this got more out of control than it already was.

Francis cocked his head. "A little break now and then won't hurt, will it Mathieu?"

"Yes, but..." Matt hovered, uncertain. Francis gracefully sank into one of the chairs, giving him that same heated, ambiguous look.

"If you do not feel comfortable, Mathieu, than just say the words." Francis's tone was uncharacteristically serious. "Give me a sign, please, so that I can know how you feel."

Matt couldn't look away from that gaze - he could feel his heart speeding up, his mouth going dry. Finally he slipped his ring off and laid it on the side table that held the drinks.

"Only if I get to be black." he declared, gently shutting the door behind him, and Francis's smile was full of such genuine pleasure it made the Canadian blush.

"Of course!" the Frenchman replied flippantly, spinning the board so the black pieces lay on Matt's side. "But I would like to make this interesting, if you don't mind Mathieu?"

"Interesting?" Matt asked, half-listening, surveying the board, trying to remember all the things Ivan had taught him the last time they'd played chess.

"Yes." since Matt's head was bowed, he missed the predatory smirk that crossed Francis's face. "Every time one of us loses a chess piece, they must do whatever the other asks of them - one _favor_, I suppose we shall call it."

Matt's head snapped upwards, a blush staining his face. Francis grinned. "Ah, _mon cher_, do not look so surprised!" he insisted. "I am sure you play something similar back home - Truth or Dare? It is similar."

Matt almost considered ducking out, making an excuse, going to find Chelles to see what work she could assign him to do.

"Fine." he heard himself say. "But I can say no at any time, right?"

"You have always had that choice." Francis told him, with a knowing tilt of his head.

At first it was hard to concentrate - Matt kept stealing glances at Francis, watched the man lace his fingers together and stare down his pieces, bright and golden hair falling past his eyes. Matt was doing fairly well in the beginning, but it didn't surprise him that _he_ was the first to have a piece taken from him.

Francis chuckled as his long fingers scooped up one of Matt's pawns. "The black is not so lucky today, _non_?" he asked teasingly.

Matt shivered in anticipation. "What do you want me to do?"

Francis looked him up and down, his fingers going to his mouth in thought. Then another wicked smile split his features and he murmured, "You hardly look comfortable, Mathieu, particularly on such a hot day. Please, take off your tie."

Instantly Matt understood _what_, exactly, Francis was trying to do.

As Matthew Williams undid the knot in his tie with shaking fingers, revealing to Francis Bonnefoy a pale expanse of neck with a hint of collarbone, he felt (not for the first time, either) his life gradually slipping further and further away from controllable.

* * *

_END CHAPTER SIXTEEN_

* * *

**Author's Note:** Apparently, when King Louis XVI was beheaded, people in the crowd ran forward to dip their handkerchiefs in his blood. It seems like the sort of morbid historical object Francis would pay a lot to have.

So...yeah. It is almost midnight here and I am bone tired, so I am posting this and sleeping in tomorrow. Thank you for reading! If you like, please leave a review!


	17. Chapter 17

**Author's Note: **So, for some reason it was super embarrassing for me to write this chapter. It's not even up to par with some of the things being put on the Internet these days, but I just found it very embarrassing to post.

This chapter will also include a sort of, I don't know, a "wrap up" to the whole US/UK thing. After this I hope to focus more on the Franada aspect. Sorry to the people who were expecting something more for Alfred and Arthur! And sorry to the people who DON'T like US/UK. This is basically it, promise.

* * *

With fingers that only shook a little bit, Matt placed his tie down on the table beside his poor, captured pawn. Without thinking he scratched self-consciously at his neck, letting the starched white collar fall open a bit more and giving Francis quite a lovely reward for his chess playing skills.

"There." Matt whispered, hunching over himself as he contemplated his next move.

"_Merci_." was Francis's soft reply. "Your turn, Mathieu."

They were silent, the ticking of the clock the only sound. The air was still and hot from a southern France afternoon, and Matt hadn't realized he was sweating (both from temperature and tension) until he had effectively cut Francis's knight off at the knees, so to speak.

Francis looked impressed, almost as impressed as Matt felt. "Very nice." he purred huskily, then reached for his drink. "Now, what would you have me do, Mathieu?"

Just the heady _suggestion_ in Francis's voice was enough to make Matt's toes tingle.

"Uhm." lost for words, Matt held out his glass, which was nearly empty. "Get me some more." after a second, he added a sweet, "Please?"

Francis looked a little disappointed, but merely nodded and got up to refill. Matt breathed a sigh of relief, settled back in his chair. Francis handed him his glass without fanfare and returned to his seat.

The game continued on, and for the first time Matt cursed the fact that there were so many _pawns_.

Francis took a pawn. "Shoes off, please." he requested, and Matt shucked them off with little resistance, relieved and maybe a _little_ disappointed that Francis didn't immediately go for his shirt.

Matt took a pawn. "Take _your_ tie off, then." he challenged, and Francis locked eyes with him, smirking as he peeled off his tie and let it drop on top of Matt's.

"So you were going to play this game with Antonio, eh?" Matt asked a bit bitterly when he took _another_ pawn and requested Francis get him something to eat. Francis shot him a look over his shoulder.

"Well, maybe not _exactly_ the same game," the older man admitted, then teased, "Are you jealous, _mon cher_?"

Matt flushed red, and that was all the answer Francis needed. When he set a bowl of _something_ on the table (it looked like chips, but Matt wasn't too sure), the Frenchman dropped his head in order to place a kiss in Matt's curls.

"Don't be too jealous." he soothed. "Antonio may be many things, but he is as dense as a brick wall. The only thing that's been able to get through that is his current little boss. Even if I _was_ interested, I doubt I could get anywhere with him."

Matt wasn't sure how to respond to that, but quickly forgot about it when, not five minutes into game play, Francis knocked one of his rooks off the board.

"I think I should stop going easy on you," the Frenchman teased, eyes roaming up and down Matt's body. "I think I would like it if you removed your shirt, please."

Matt didn't know one could take a shirt off so quickly without ripping something. His shoulders hit cool air; he shivered. Goose-bumps flared up on his arms and he crossed his arms when something more than goose-bumps pricked up on his chest. Francis laughed.

"Don't be shy, _mon cher_." he coaxed. "It happens to everyone."

His face bright red, Matt dropped his arms.

Francis stared for a long moment, drinking in the sight of Matt's pale chest, his gaze following the naked flesh of the Canadian's torso down until it tragically disappeared under his slacks.

"Ah, yes." Francis hummed, licking his lips. "You remember when I saw you in the garden a while ago? I regret not getting a good look at you. I plan not to waste my second chance."

Matt squirmed under Francis's gaze. It was amazing the effect the Frenchman had on him - he could turn him into a stammering, stuttering mess in a heartbeat. Even now, just _looking_ at him, Matt was self-conscious of every move he made, every spot or freckle on his body that someone could possibly find unattractive. In return, Matt was surprised at the effect _he_ had on the Frenchman - blue eyes followed him as he scratched his shoulder; Francis crossed his legs and exhaled when Matt stretched, leaned back in his chair to survey the game.

"_Don't get distracted_." Ivan had told him during their chess game, and Matt could see that Francis was _very_ distracted.

Picking up his glass, Matt saw an opening in Francis's defenses.

"What will you do to me if I lose, Mr. Bonnefoy?" he asked sweetly.

Francis gave him a smirk. "If I tell you," he admitted, "I will lose my concentration."

"Of course." Matt hummed. His bishop traversed diagonally across the board. "Check."

Francis blinked, then chuckled. "Clever boy." he murmured softly. "Perhaps I have bitten off more than I can chew. What do you wish of me, Mathieu?"

"Touch me." Matt said without thinking - then his eyes went wide and he clapped a hand over his mouth. Francis looked even more surprised than Matt, if that was possible.

"Where?" he asked - Matt watched, disbelieving, as Francis rose to his feet, crossing the space between them in seconds; he braced his hands on the arm rests of Matt's chair. "Where should I touch you, Mathieu?"

There was silence. They locked eyes, blue on searing blue, and Matt lowered his hand.

"A-anywhere." he managed, shivering though the afternoon was warm. "Just - please."

So Francis did. With an unexpected gentleness he reached out to caress Matt's face - with his other hand he brushed Matt's collarbone, swept lightly across his shoulders and traveled lower. He reached Matt's right nipple and pulled gently.

Matt arched a bit and writhed in his seat, lips parted in a silent intake of breath. Intrigued, Francis repeated the motion, and grinned when he elicited a similar result. Matt pushed his hair back from his face, glowering at the older man.

"Very funny." he grumbled at the look on Francis's face.

"_I _thought so." Francis replied innocently, before continuing his exploration of Matt's torso. Matt made encouraging, breathy sounds throughout which pleased Francis greatly. At one point Matt grabbed the Frenchman's shoulders and began running his own hands over Francis's still clothed form.

_Now we're getting somewhere_, Francis thought wickedly.

He leaned down and whispered in Matt's ear, "Shall we abandon the pretense of the chess game, or would you like to keep playing?"

Matt made an annoyed sound and firmly batted Francis's hands away when they began wandering too freely.

"So you invited me here - _ahn_, your hands are _cold_, stop! - knowing you were going to seduce me?" he asked.

Francis smirked. "You can't seduce the unwilling." he reminded Matt, kneeling down in front of the boy, parting his knees so he could sit in between them.

Matt made a face. "So do you do this _seducing_ on a regular basis?" he asked, and Francis leaned on his knees.

"If I must be honest with you, yes." the Frenchman chuckled at the way the boy's face fell. "I happen to have a very...voracious personality."

"Oh." Matt sounded painfully disappointed, but all sound vanished from his mouth when Francis slyly reached forward to palm his crotch, rubbing and groping in movements that made the younger man squirm.

"_Oh_." he repeated, quizzical as Francis played with the zipper of his slacks, pulling it down and exposing his boxers.

"So what does that make _me_, then?" Matt demanded as Francis leaned down, breath warming places that were already _quite_ warm, thank you!

"Very lucky." Francis assured him with modesty, then licked Matt's crotch.

Matt doubled over, moaning. "Francis!" he panted, embarrassed. He wanted to add, _hurry up_, but his head was still reeling from Francis's declaration. The Frenchman had done this many times before; he had not given Matt a lengthy, flowery speech about how he was "special", "the only one for him", or anything indicating that this time was different from the others. To Matt, it sounded like he was just another conquest, another servant boy for Francis to seduce. It stung Matt, more than he'd like to admit, but at the same time it offered a sense of relief. He no longer had to worry himself about his loyalty - he was as loyal to Francis as Francis was to him, which wasn't much, he assumed

Matt couldn't believe he'd ever fallen for Francis Bonnefoy.

But even throughout this revelation, Matt could not ignore the sensation of Francis slipping a hand into his boxers, pulling out Matt's throbbing arousal. The Frenchman gave it a few, appreciative strokes. Matt squeezed his eyes shut, gasping.

"Look at me, _mon cher_." Francis's voice was playful but commanding. Reluctantly, Matt obeyed, taking in the sight of Francis, _his boss_, kneeling between his legs, hands cradling his cock.

It was a bizarrely, painfully erotic sight. Francis stopped stroking and a whine tore itself from Matt's throat.

"Francis - please, I - " Matt huffed, unable to form a sentence, unable to say such a mortifying thing.

Even kneeling on the floor Francis managed to look so elegant and wicked.

"What do you need, Mathieu?" he murmured, reaching up to stroke the Canadian's adorably flushed face. "Ask me, and I will give it to you."

Embarrassed, Matt gathered his dignity. "P-_pleasesuckmeoff_." he blurted out.

Francis met Matt's hazy gaze with an almost tender smile.

"Now how could I deny you that?" Francis chuckled, before dipping his head and taking Matt's arousal in his mouth.

Matt was hurt and a little angry because of his thoughts, but his mind went blank the moment Francis's lips touched his cock. Francis laved the underside with his tongue before swirling around the head. When Matt finally made his eyes focus, he was aware of Francis unzipping his own slacks and stroking himself. Matt felt bad until Francis hollowed his cheeks and Matt couldn't think anymore. Instead, he babbled breathless encouragement, tangling his fingers in Francis's hair and massaging the other man's scalp. He felt Francis smirk against his cock; felt the gentle scrape of teeth, and _that_ set off a tight feeling in his gut.

He curled his toes into the carpet.

"Shit - Francis!" Matt whimpered by way of a warning. One of Francis's hands stroked the inside of Matt's thigh. Their eyes met and Matt was momentarily taken aback when he saw the look Francis gave him.

_Let me watch you_, the look seemed to say, and Matt granted his silent request, keeping his eyes on Francis's as he shuddered and panted and filled the Frenchman's mouth. Matt collapsed backwards into his seat as Francis tucked both of them back into their respective pants with a smooth grace. The Frenchman then tugged Mat down to kiss him.

"_Normalement, je ne fais pas le pipe_." Francis told him solemnly, He obviously overestimated Matt's ability in the French language, and the poor Canadian was so flustered he could hardly attempt to translate.

Francis laughed at his dazed expression and told him, "_Tu es très mignon_, Mathieu." before kissing him again. It took Matt a few seconds to realize that Francis was still hard; when he did, he blushed fiercely and slid out of his chair, coming to kneel in front of Francis.

"I - I'm sorry!" he apologized. "You didn't - !" he gestured helplessly at Francis's crotch. Francis looked amused.

"_Tu es mon seul sur un million_." he said. "_Tu es contrairement à tout le monde._ Do not worry about me, _mon cher_. I can take care of myself." with a wink Francis stood, helping Matt to his feet.

"I suppose I shouldn't keep you any longer." the Frenchman eventually suggested, watching as Matt hurriedly gathered his shirt and shoes. Matt felt something sickening in his gut, a feeling like he was about to cry.

_Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry_, he chanted to himself, his fingers trembling as he buttoned up his shirt. Francis caught his trembling, however, and his expression became so concerned that it made the feeling in Matt's gut worse.

"What's the matter?" Francis asked gently, and his tone made the feelings worse. Francis had _confirmed_ (at least in Matt's mind!) that this was nothing special. So how _dare_ he make those butterflies erupt in his stomach, how _dare _he give him false hope, now that he knew he was just one in a long line?

"I'm f-fine!" Matt exclaimed, leaving the other buttons undone and grabbing for his tie. "I unders-stand now, it's okay, I'll get back to work - "

"_Quoi_? Understand what?" Francis, bewilderment evident in his eyes, tried to put an arm around Matt.

"I don't know," Matt wiped at his eyes, side-stepping the arm. "I don't know, I'll go now."

"What have I done?" Francis asked, catching Matt's wrist. "_Mon cher_...are you regretting it?"

Why was _Francis_ the one who looked so hurt? Irritation sparked in front of Matt's eyes and he yanked his hand back.

"It just seems I got the wrong impression." he said evenly. "I'm sorry for doing so. Goodbye, Mr. Bonnefoy."

"Mathieu - " Francis tried again. "Mathieu, what have I done?"

"Nothing!" Matt cried out suddenly, twisting his tie in his hands. "You've done absolutely nothing wrong, and that's the problem! It's my fault for misinterpreting your - your intentions."

He didn't give Francis a chance to respond - he swiftly left the room, attempting to knot his tie with his shaking hands. He felt embarrassed and upset and confused, and could only think one thing:

_Ivan was right._

* * *

"Do you think Matt's been acting strangely lately?" Alfred asked, plopping himself down on the sofa unceremoniously.

Arthur started, nearly upset his tea, then peered suspiciously over his book at the loud mouthed man. They had barely talked since that embarrassing incident, and it stung a little that Alfred would only talk to him about Matt.

"You haven't spoken to me in days," Arthur huffed, "and _this_ is what you want to talk about?" he tried (and failed) to hide a note of hurt in his voice.

Alfred blinked owlishly at him. "Well, I mean," he began. "It's not like you'd talk to me about..._that stuff_ anyways."

Arthur sputtered, about to defend himself, but then realized he couldn't and tossed his book aside with great frustration.

"Granted, Matthew _has_ been acting strange." he admitted finally. "You know, that one time he was out until the evening, he came back looking..." Arthur paused, measuring his words. "...well, like a lovestruck teenager, to be quite honest."

Alfred looked thoughtful. "He was telling me about a guy he met in town, that he hangs out with from time to time. Larry? I think."

"A _guy_ he met in _town_?" Arthur stared incredulously at Alfred, who still looked deep in thought. "Aren't you at all worried about that?"

Alfred gave him one of his idiotic grins, as if Arthur had said something particularly funny.

"'Course I am!" he said brightly. "I'm just trying to remember the guy's name so I can go 'round and pay him a visit!" Alfred's Southern twang was noticeable as his eyes glinted dangerously (_Why oh why_ was Arthur finding that so attractive??) "After all," Alfred added casually. "I need to protect my baby bro!"

"Dear Lord." Arthur murmured, gripping the spine of his book with shaking fingers. Alfred cocked his head.

"What's the matter, Artie?" he asked.

"_Don't call me that_ - nothing." Arthur caught himself. "You're just...very protective of Matthew, hm?"

"Well, yeah. I always protected him at school an' stuff, since he'd never stand up for himself. His bullies wouldn't touch him by the time _I_ got through with 'em!"

There it was again - that drawling accent Arthur could pick out in Alfred's speech. Arthur shuddered, and this time Alfred scooted closer.

"You sure you're okay?" Alfred's face was concerned. Arthur heated up.

"O-of course!" he lied. "I've just never seen you act like this before!"

"Huh? Like what?" Alfred got closer.

Arthur shivered again, then without thinking leaned forward and brushed his lips against Alfred's.

Alfred went very still and his mouth opened a bit; Arthur took this as the hint to draw back and prepared for a more "proper" kiss, when the American asked, "Are you drunk again?"

A hot flash of embarrassment shot through Arthur and he pushed away as if stung. "N-never mind!" he exclaimed. "Git. I'm going to my office..." he stood but Alfred tugged him down again, blue eyes panicked.

"I'm sorry!" he exclaimed quickly. "I didn't mean to offend you, it's just - the last time you kissed me..."

Arthur let out an embarrassed snort and turned his head away. Alfred's gentle fingers caught his chin and turned it back.

"And _about_ that night," Alfred continued, eyebrows raised, eyes clear and eager. "When I pushed you away, it wasn't because I didn't want it."

Arthur gaped for a second. "What?" he demanded. Alfred's eyes crinkled as a grin split his face.

"You're a bit thick, Artie. No offense." Alfred laughed, and Arthur was too muddled to protest when the American pulled him bodily into his lap, wrapping arms around the Brit.

Arthur's eyes widened as Alfred kissed him soundly, a demanding and eager kiss that was just _so Alfred_ that Arthur laughed into the American's mouth. Alfred pull back, looking adorably puzzled.

"Now, I _know_ you did not just laugh at me." he drawled. Arthur laughed harder.

A smile on his face, Alfred slipped a hand between their bodies, pulling Arthur's shirt loose and sneaking under the fabric to caress Arthur's stomach. Arthur groaned, laughter dying on his lips. Alfred grinned, triumphant. His glasses were skewed in a very endearing fashion.

"_That_ shut you up." he observed.

"Wanker." Arthur murmured without any anger, fondly trailing kisses down Alfred's neck. Under him, he felt Alfred shift and sigh.

"You know," Alfred remarked off-handedly after a few seconds of silence, "I have to admit you were better at this when you were plastered."

"_Wanker_." Arthur repeated fiercely, suddenly jealous of his drunk self, and began applying little nips to Alfred's neck. Now it was the American's turn to groan, rocking his hips and sending a jolt of pleasure through Arthur's body.

"It seems something is able to shut your big mouth after all, Alfred." Arthur proclaimed smugly, drawing back to give Alfred a self-satisfied smile.

"Know what else would shut me up?" Alfred asked cheekily, and gave another roll of his hips. Arthur looked mortified.

"Are you serious?" he hissed. Alfred grinned. "Well, yeah. Why, you wanna go to your office and do it?"

Arthur coloured. "Ab-absolutely not!" he spluttered. He was pretty sure that if they did _anything_ in his office he'd never be able to do paperwork in there again without his mind going somewhere it shouldn't.

"My bedroom." he grunted as he fisted a hand in Alfred's collar. At Alfred's incredulous stare he added, "Well, it's a whole lot better than here, isn't it?"

Alfred glanced at the parlor door, understanding in his eyes. "Good point." he acquiesced. "Let's go."

They slipped silently, awkwardly, into Arthur's bedroom - Arthur avoided Alfred's eyes as he neatly undid his tie, rolled down his sleeves. He could hear rustling behind him and assumed Alfred was doing the same thing.

Suddenly arms were around his waist and a nose was in his hair. Arthur stiffened as Alfred nuzzled him.

"You really gotta lighten up, Art." Alfred purred. His hands kneaded the Brit's hips briefly before sliding forward, down towards his groin.

"I - " Arthur cut himself off by moaning when Alfred began fondling him.

"You were a lot more forthcoming when you had a few drinks in you." Alfred mused, fiddling with Arthur's equipment and driving the older man crazy. "Then again, I like this Arthur better."

"Y - you - !" Arthur whirled around and pressed a fierce kiss to Alfred's mouth. "Just shut up and get over to the bed!"

Alfred arched his eyebrows, but he looked more amused than insulted. "Yes, _sir_." he retorted, tone sharp like a soldier, and crossed the room with several bounds of his long legs. Arthur's breath caught in his throat when Alfred spread himself provocatively on the bed, propping himself up on his elbows.

"Well?" Alfred prompted. "What do you wanna do to me, _sir_?"

"Oh, for the love of - " Arthur would later maintain that gentleman do _not_ run across their bedrooms to get to their new lovers, and no matter _how_ many times Alfred would chuckle at the memory of watching Arthur sprint towards him, _it never happened_.

* * *

Ivan gave Matt a curious look when he came across him in the halls that evening after work.

"Matthew, your eyes are all red." Ivan said as way of a conversation starter. Unconsciously, Matt rubbed at them.

"I - I must be a little tired." he offered, and winced as his voice wavered. Ivan caught it - one of his large arms found their way around Matt's shoulders.

"Come to my room, Matthew." he cajoled. "We will drink, and talk."

"I - " Matt paused, uncertain. "Sure. Why not."

Thirty minutes later Matt was curled up opposite Ivan, a drink in his hands, listening to the Russian talk brightly on about work and life and the things he had done in town.

"I got a sunflower from this cute little flower stall!" he said with enthusiasm. "The boy who ran it was very nice!"

Matt wondered just how many flower stalls there _were_ in Marseilles.

"Now, Matthew." Ivan leaned forward, an unusual look of seriousness on his face. "What is the matter?"

Matt hesitated. "I have a...a friend. In town." he finally lied (well, not _exactly_ - but he couldn't very well tell Ivan it was _Francis_ he was talking about). Ivan nodded.

"The one you have been hanging out with." he confirmed.

"...Yes. I, uh, I really like him." Matthew looked down at his glass. "_Really_ like him. An-and at first I thought that maybe he really liked me to. So recently we were, uhm. Fooling around. And I was so happy, but then he said something to me - and just the way he acted! - and it made me think that he thinks I'm just another...fling. He's really handsome and charming and he can have anyone he wants."

"Mm." Ivan shifted. "And?"

"And...you were right." Matthew curled in on himself, feeling absolutely miserable. "He doesn't know what I'm doing, I can't hope that he understands, I don't understand why he would..."

_Why he would want me_, was what he wanted to say, but it got caught in his throat. Ivan, mercifully, didn't say anything, and they sat in silence for a while. Matt heard some noise, voices and a few bangs, from a few rooms down, and he turned his head to try to hear better. It sounded like someone was moving furniture around. Matt turned his head back to find that Ivan was kneeling in front of him. Before Matt could say anything, Ivan kissed him. His lips were cold and they tasted like vodka. Matt leaned back to escape and Ivan followed him, crushing their bodies together. The man was so _chilly_, and Matt found himself grasping at Ivan's coat, trying to see if he had any body heat _at all_. He tried to talk into Ivan's mouth when the man suddenly pulled away, gave him a cheery grin, and then wrapped his arms around Matt.

Matt sat, stunned, as Ivan nestled his head into Matt's midsection and held the Canadian there.

"It will all be okay." Ivan said calmly, as if he _hadn't_ just kissed Matt out of the blue. Matt realized that, in some bizarre way, this must be Ivan trying to comfort him. After a few seconds, he lifted his hand and slid his fingers into Ivan's cool, pale hair.

Thankfully Ivan had his eyes closed, so he wasn't able to see Matt crying.

* * *

**Translations:**

_Normalement, je ne fais pas le pipe = _Normally, I don't give blow jobs.

_Tu es très mignon = _You are very cute

_Tu es mon seul sur un million_ = You are my one in a million

_Tu es contrairement à tout le monde_ = You are unlike the whole world/unlike anyone else, I think

**Author's Note:** Oh, Matthew! If only you were better at French! In my headcanon, Matthew probably grew up to be a super insecure person. And when you're dealing with a person who has such a...flippant facade like Francis Bonnefoy, it doesn't do well to be insecure...

Thanks for reading, as always! If you enjoyed the chapter I'd love to hear from you!


	18. Chapter 18

**Author's Note:** Holy moly, I haven't been on in so long! I just had two midterms, going to have several more over the month, so sorry if you reviewed and I didn't get back to you! Also, sorry that I didn't update for so long and then when I _do _update, I give you a filler chapter that is short and lame and has absolutely nothing to do with the story line (filler? What is this filler of which you speak??). I hope it's all right, regardless!

* * *

When Matt woke up the next day, he called in sick. Elizaveta sounded very worried over the phone, but at this point Matt didn't care if she believed him or not. All he wanted to do was stay home, take time to think and maybe sleep and forget all about Francis giving him a blow job or any variation of this thought. This was interrupted, of course, when Gilbert flung the door to his room open, clambered onto his bed and stood over Matt.

"Hey." he said brightly. "Taking a sickie?"

Matt frowned and tried to look sick. "Yes." he coughed delicately into his fist. Gilbert grinned.

"Yeah, right!" he crowed, and began jumping up and down on the bed. "You're gonna have to get a lot better than that if you wanna play hooky! Now me, I'm real good at convincing my brother I've come down with an illness and am at death's door."

"Are you now." that familiar deadpan was hard to miss, and Gilbert cringed.

"Go away, West." he told his brother, who was standing in the doorframe. "I'm getting Mattie up."

"I'm up, but I'm sick." Matt told him irritably, and tugged at the albino's pant leg. "Now get off my bed."

"Nuh-uh. Don't believe you. You wanna take a day off, you have to hang out with _us_." Gilbert obligingly hopped off his bed, and ripped the covers off.

Matt lay there, hoping if he glowered at Gilbert long enough that he would go away. No such luck.

Finally the Canadian sighed and asked, "Then what are we doing today, eh?"

"Arthur's flying back to England to get some business done." Gilbert explained. "So we promised him we'd work_ extra hard_ today."

Basically, that meant they were playing hooky, as well. As soon as Matt was dressed, Gilbert informed him to "hurry his butt up and eat breakfast" because they were going hiking.

Matt kept trying to refuse. He had been a very outdoorsy child, often going camping and hiking with his parents, but the last thing he wanted to do today was spend it outside with these guys.

But even Matt's resolve crumbled when Alfred turned to him with an elated look on his face and asked, "You coming with us, Mattie? Man, we haven't done anything like this together since you were sixteen!"

_Boom_, just like that. Matt wondered if Alfred even _knew_ what he did to people. If he did, Matt was obviously related to a sadist.

"Yeah, Al." he said. "It's been a long time."

Matt was filled in over breakfast - there was a place not far from here, the Marseille calanques, that were apparently a great place to hike. It wasn't far from Marseille, either; there was a bus whose route went right past a trail ("We should be environment heroes and take the bus!" Alfred crowed, to which Ivan replied he'd rather _not_ be a hero if that meant he could take the van instead of enduring French public transport. "What are you, a communist?" Alfred asked, then immediately added, "Never mind, I don't want to know.")

Matt was graciously allowed by Gilbert to return to his room to grab a pair of shoes that could _maybe_ withstand a hike and not destroy his ankles in the process. He contemplated locking the door so Gilbert couldn't drag him out again, but the albino foiled that idea by sitting on Matt's bed until he was ready. Matt contented himself with passive aggressively glowering at Gilbert whenever the man's head was turned.

Finally he packed a backpack, tied his laces, and was dragged back downstairs. Outside, Ivan was using his height to keep the keys away from Alfred, effectively appointing himself driver (Matt heard his brother mutter, "Communist" under his breath). When Ivan saw Matt, he motioned to him with his arm.

"Come, Matthew!" he exclaimed. "You will be in passenger seat!"

Gilbert protested with a whiny note in his voice. Matt felt childishly vindictive. _That's what you get for making me come along!_

Once they were all piled in, Ivan started the engine and someone handed Matt a map. Matt unfurled it so it was spread haphazardly across his lap and part of Ivan's leg, and attempted to instruct the Russian on which way to go.

Things weren't really working out like that - Ivan would ask which way to go, and by the time Matt could look down, pinpoint their route and open his mouth, Ivan had already taken a sharp right, narrowly missing someone's yard, and was heading in another direction entirely, prompting Matt to scramble in an attempt to figure out _where_ they were going and _how_ they could get back on track. Clearly, Ivan was a tough person to give orders to.

Eventually, once they had reached a point in their journey where all Matt could say was, "Follow the road - _no_, I'll _tell_ you when to turn! Eyes on the road!", the Canadian felt it was safe to fold the map and examine the scenery. Gilbert was chatting enthusiastically with his brother in German; Alfred was playing some sort of handheld game; Kiku, sitting silently by the window, caught Matt's eyes and gave a little smile. Matt returned it and turned back around.

"So, Matthew." Ivan remarked casually when the silence stretched on for too long. "Have you ever been hiking before?"

"Hm?" Matt looked up from the map. "Oh, yeah, I - "

"He and I used to go all the time when we were kids." Alfred interrupted loudly from the backseat, thumbs still tapping away.

Ivan looked annoyed at the interruption, and glanced at Matt as if for confirmation.

"Yeah." Matt agreed. "Our parents were big on family bonding trips, but we usually didn't go farther than out of the province."

"What kind of stuff is there to _do_ in Canada?" Gilbert asked, leaning forward, sufficiently bored of his brother.

"Well," Matt explained, "We lived on the West Coast for a bit. So we had the Rockies if we wanted to drive that far, but also coastal forests - "

" - and hotsprings. I loved those." Alfred added. Matt turned his head so he could roll his eyes at his brother.

"You always used to stay in there until your fingers pruned. Mum thought you'd get heatstroke one day." he reminded him. Alfred snickered at the memory.

"My parents used to take me to the hot springs in my country, as well." Kiku piped up softly.

"Oh yeah!" Matt nodded. "Japan has a lot of springs, right? Do you still go to them when you can?"

Kiku looked wistful. "Of course." he replied. "They always make me home sick."

"When Ludwig and I were growing up," Gilbert jumped in. "We lived in a heavily wooded area and on weekends we'd go camping all the time. Remember, _Bruder_?"

To Matt's surprise, Ludwig's smile was fond and tinged with nostalgia.

"_Ja_." he nodded. "You'd always get us lost."

Gilbert bristled; Matt laughed, "Alfred would always get _us_ lost when we tried to go by ourselves, too!"

"_Hey_!" Alfred swatted his little brother's head, which only made Matt laugh harder. Ivan was looking in the rearview mirror with a small smile on his face, his expression a mix of nostalgia and almost gentle envy

"Did you ever go camping with your sisters, Ivan?" Matt asked the Russian.

"Yes." Ivan replied. "Once, Katya couldn't start our campfire and started crying, and Natalia thought someone was trespassing on our campsite and pulled a knife out on a hiker."

There was a stunned silence. "...I'm sorry." Matt offered, not sure of what else to say. Ivan looked bemused.

"Do not be." he assured him. "It is normal."

Matt was not quite sure how to resume the conversation after that - Alfred didn't help matters by laughing; Matt shot him a look over his shoulder.

"It is funny?" Ivan cocked his head, his smile pleasant enough to be disarming but terrifying enough for Alfred to return to his game.

"No, no." Matt said quickly. "It's just that, well. Alfred was just remembering when I couldn't start a campfire one time."

"You what?" Alfred looked up, puzzled. Matt nodded. Ivan looked satisfied at the explanation and didn't press.

Matt tried not to doze off, intent on reading the map, so when they finally parked the van it took an effort to pull himself out of the vehicle.

Alfred was on him in a second, game forgotten. "Hey, Mattie, let's walk together!" he declared, and turned to the rest of the group. "We're doing a buddy system! Everyone grab a buddy!"

"How _old_ are you?" Gilbert demanded, looping an arm through Ludwig's so he didn't get stuck with Ivan.

"It's an important part of hiking!" Alfred argued, mimicking Gilbert and pulling Matt close to his side. "If one of you gets eaten by a bear, the other one can tell us about it!"

"What if the bear eats both of us?" Ivan asked, putting a hand on Kiku's shoulder. The shorter man looked perturbed.

Alfred considered this. "Well, then, that's a tragedy." he declared.

Matt rolled his eyes.

Alfred was sticking uncomfortably close to him, insisting on leading even though Gilbert had taken control of the map and was shouting things at the two brothers as they hiked rapidly ahead of the group.

Once they were far enough away, Alfred grabbed Matt's ear and tugged sharply on it, a frown on his face.

"Ow!" Matt exclaimed. "Al, what the hell?"

"What's up with you and _Ivan_?" Alfred spat the word out like it was poison. Matt flushed (though that may have been the fact that Alfred was practically _pulling_ him up a sharp incline, leaving the others behind).

"What are you talking about?" he demanded. "Slow down, this isn't a race!"

Alfred obediently faltered his steps, though the frown on his face remained.

"Well?" he demanded. "He's been looming over you lately. And I don't just mean "looming" as in "_ha ha he's taller than you_", I mean, "_he barely knows you and he's hanging around you like a puppy_". It's creepy. I don't like it. You want me to take care of him?"

"What? Al." Matt looked at his older brother sternly. "Ivan isn't hanging around like a puppy. He's just..." Matt couldn't find the words to accurately describe Ivan. "Look, he's just trying to be friendly."

"Yeah, I know." Al said bluntly. "He and I have known each other for a while. And I _know_ what it looks like when Ivan's trying to come on to someone."

"..._C__ome on to someone_?" Matt repeated incredulously, chancing a glance behind him. Ivan was chatting cheerfully with Kiku, who looked like he wanted to politely sink into the rocky cliff beside him. Ivan looked up and caught Matt's eye, and the smile brightened. Matt smiled back before turning around again.

"Al, maybe you're reading too much into this..." he tried, but Alfred snorted.

"Hell, no! I know what I saw. If that Commie bastard touches you, Matt, you tell me and I'll make sure he doesn't bother you again!"

Matt couldn't help but give a fond smile. Even though his brother showed his feelings in weird (and annoying) ways, it made him feel a little better that Alfred cared enough about him to threaten a large, intimidating Russian.

"Thanks, Al." he said sincerely. Alfred blinked.

"Oh. Uh." then he grinned. "Anytime, Mattie."

* * *

They made it to the end of the trail, which overlooked a large, deep valley. Matt was exhausted, though the rest of the men didn't seem to be breaking a sweat. Matt felt a little self-conscious, and sat down on a rock to catch his breath, looking out over the valley, marveling at the view. France was beautiful this time of year - Matt would bet that, were Francis here, the Frenchman would would be talking his ear off about the scenery.

This thought caused him to frown sadly. He was going to take this day off to _forget_ about Francis Bonnefoy. Instead, he was thinking about him while hiking. How sad was that?

Ivan sat down next to him, giving a light sigh.

"You are still troubled, Matthew?" he asked. Matthew gave him a weak smile.

"A little." he admitted. "I'm not trying to...I thought this would take my mind off the whole thing."

"And it is not working?" Ivan hummed and scuffed his toe in the dirt. "Perhaps you are needing to talk about it?"

"God, no." Matt said quickly before he could stop himself. At Ivan's look, he backpedalled. "I mean, not that you wouldn't make an _excellent_ person to talk to," he hurried. "But I'm not really sure I should be talking about it."

"Oh." Ivan shifted and his side pressed into Matt's shoulder. "Another time, then?"

"Y-yeah." Matt laughed nervously. Suddenly someone brought their chin down (_hard_) on the top of his head. He yowled and swatted, and somewhere above him Alfred laughed.

"Man, your head's rock hard, what are you yellin' about?" Alfred asked cheerfully. "Now c'mon, Gilbert challenged me to a race to the top."

"Really?" Matt sighed. "Al, it's so _hot_ out, you'll pass out!"

"Nah!" Alfred proclaimed, nearly hauling Matt to his feet by hooking his hands under his armpits. "Heroes don't pass out!"

"Guh, Alfred, let _go_!" Matt kicked uselessly as he was dragged backwards. Ivan watched them with a small smile, and Alfred glared at him.

"Hey, Mattie, tell Gilbert I'll be right there." he told his brother, and Matt dutifully went off to where Gilbert was doing enthusiastic calf stretches. Ludwig was looking on in exasperation.

"Hey, Ivan." Alfred said pleasantly. "How's it going?"

"Oh, just fine." Ivan rose to his full height and peered down at the American. "Just fine. It is a lovely day, yes?"

"Oh, yeah." Alfred agreed, a strained smile twitching on his lips. "Hey, listen, what the hell do you think you're doing with my brother?"

"Well." Ivan pretended to think for a minute, shifting on his feet. "We are talking, and sometimes together we are drinking, and then - "

"Don't be a foreign smart ass." Alfred snapped. "You know what I mean."

Ivan shook his head. "The way you use your language is so confusing, Alfred." he told him softly, as if to a child. "You ask me a question, I answer the question, but you want me to answer it in another way?"

Alfred ground his teeth.

"Just watch yourself around my brother." he warned. "Mattie's got enough on his plate without you hangin' around."

Ivan gave a sinister smile that showed his teeth. "I will watch myself _very carefully_." he promised brightly, then turned his back on Alfred and pointedly glanced at Matt, who was talking earnestly with Ludwig.

"I will watch _him_ very carefully, yes?" he added under his breath, and Alfred's fist clenched involuntarily before Ivan abruptly walked away from him.

"...did you really?" Matt was asking the blonde German with a broad smile as Alfred and Ivan joined their group. Ludwig nodded, a half-smile on his face.

"Yes. Gilbert and I saw Knut all the time at the zoo in Berlin. Of course, Gilbert liked looking at the birds more..."

"Oi!" Gilbert, who had been talking to Kiku, whirled around with an indignant look on his face, cheeks red. "Don't tell people that, West! I totally like _awesome_ animals, like - like the lions!"

"He would stand by the bird cages and coo at them until someone asked him to leave." Ludwig told Matt with a smirk. "It was great."

"_Hey_!" Gilbert tried to pounce on his brother's back, but Ludwig evaded him with a simple arm to the sternum.

"There's nothing wrong with birds." Matt told Gilbert sympathetically.

"'Course there isn't!" Gilbert wheezed, simultaneously trying to claw his way over his brother's arm and defend the animals. "They're graceful creatures!"

Matt couldn't help laughing, then threw his hands up for protection as Gilbert made a swipe at him. "They are, they are!"

"Hey!" Alfred was waving at Gilbert. "Gil, are we racing? I mean, I'm the hero so I know I'll already win, but I'll humor you just this once!"

"Can your head fit through a door or is it getting too big?" Matt asked his brother with a sigh. Alfred made a rude gesture at him.

"I will referee!" Ivan announced cheerily, and raised his scarf up like a flag. "On your marks..." the two men scrambled to get into position. "...get set..." Alfred gave Matt a wink. "..._go_."

Alfred was off like a rocket - Gilbert made a half-hearted jog after the American and then circled back lazily with a grin on his face. Matt raised his eyebrows.

"Did you just...throw a race with my brother?" he asked. When Gilbert nodded and cackled, the Canadian shaded his eyes with his hand, watching the dust Alfred kicked up as he disappeared over the ridge of the hill.

"...He hasn't noticed." he sighed. "Oh, Alfred..."

"Someone should go get him." Ludwig suggested.

No one moved.

Finally Matt heaved another sigh. "Okay, I'll go. Be right back." he broke out into a light jog, taking the hill slowly and looking around once he got to the top.

He could just make out the bright golden head of his brother, and he cupped his hands around his mouth.

"_ALFRED_!" he bellowed. "_STOP_!"

Alfred turned, saw him, and waved. Then he pointed to the top of the ridge and made several waving hand movements that probably meant, "Not now Mattie, I'm in a race!!"

Matt groaned and resumed his jog.

It took him ten minutes to reach the top, by which time he was panting and sweating and sore. He mentally cursed himself for wearing a hoodie, especially at this time of year - it was sticking uncomfortably to his back and he peeled it off as he joined Alfred, who was sitting cheerily on a rock overlooking the the canyon below.

"Wow, bro, guess it's not hockey season for you, huh?" the elder joked. Matt delivered a weak slap to his shoulder that did nothing.

"Jerk." he huffed. "Gilbert...wasn't even....racing you..."

"Oh, I know!" Alfred replied brightly. "I figured it out when I didn't see him following me."

"Why didn't you come _back_?" Matt demanded. Alfred shrugged.

"It was good exercise." he shot his baby brother a sly look and Matt was suddenly conscious of the sweat stains under his armpits. He crossed his arms, a stern pout on his face.

"I chased you _all the way up here_." he complained. "What are you, five? C'mon, let's go back, I want to go home, this is a ridiculous trip."

"Aw, really?" now Alfred's face was absurdly upset. "You didn't like hanging out with us today?"

Considering all they had done was bicker briefly in a van, hike up to a small ridge and become separated from the group thanks to Alfred's almost inhuman leg muscles, Matt couldn't really consider it a full day's worth of "hanging out".

"It's not that..." he started in exasperation. Alfred got to his feet and dusted his jeans off.

"I think if we go down this side we'll get back faster." he pointed out, and Matt was so distracted he allowed Alfred to lead him down the other side of the valley without remembering that following Alfred was usually a bad idea.

* * *

"Hey, so, I think we might be - "

"_Please_ don't say it." Matt clenched his jaw. "If you don't say it, it's not true. We are _not_ lost in the calanques. We are _not_. I am _not_ going to go through another "adventure" with you like the last time."

"But Matt - "

"_No_." Matt stormed ahead of his brother, picking his footing carefully as he tried to scale down an almost impossibly sheer face. Alfred hooked his arms around his brother's shoulders and pulled him back.

"Matt, you can't go that way, stop." he chided, and Matt growled.

"Well, then _where should we go, Alfred_?" he asked in a dangerous voice that Alfred swore sounded a lot like Arthur. "We've been trying to find the rest of the group for an _hour_ now!"

"Well, I mean, they can't be _that_ far away." Alfred protested, scanning the rocky, barren calanques with a furrow in his brow. "We came down the opposite side, they should be..." he started off in a random direction. Matt refused to budge, clinging to the rock face as if he was contemplating jumping down regardless.

"I'm not following you anymore," he declared. "I'm not. I'm just going to wait here until something happens."

Alfred sighed and bent to peer down at his brother.

"You're going to _wait__ until something happens_?" he repeated with a sigh. "Seriously, Mattie, don't be stubborn. I'll get us out of this - "

Matt glowered at his fingers, digging them into the dirt. "Right." he agreed sardonically. "Sure you will."

"I will!" Alfred promised. "Come on. It's gotta be around here somewhere."

Matt seriously doubted it, but with reluctance he clambered back up to the trail and followed his brother. They rounded the ridge and found themselves looking at more identical, empty calanques.

"Don't worry, Mattie!" Alfred said with considerably less enthusiasm. "There's supposed to be, like, foxes around here or something. If worse comes to worse I know how to hunt!"

"We're going to hunt _foxes_?" Matt asked, and the idea was so ridiculous - the two of them standing out there in jeans and t-shirts, not far from a major town, hunting _foxes_ of all things - that his anger dissipated and he started laughing. Then he couldn't stop, leaning against the side of one of the ridges, panting, out of breath. When Alfred shoved him for laughing he wrapped an arm around his brother's shoulders.

"You're crazy." he wheezed. "You're absolutely insane, you know that?"

Alfred gawked at him. "Do you have heatstroke or something?" he asked. Matt wiped tears from his eyes.

"No, I'm fine. I'm much better." Matt answered, and it was true. It was like a weight had lifted off his shoulders, and he almost laughed again when, above them on a jutting outcrop, Ivan leaned over and asked, "You are coming up now, yes? You will share the joke?"

Matt grinned and waved at him. Alfred's face was a mask of shock. "Wait, you were _above_ us the whole time and you didn't care to let us know?!" he demanded. Ivan smiled at him.

"You walked right by us." he pointed out. "You are not very good with directions. Or noticing things. Or climbing down hills."

"Okay, thank you." Alfred said a little irritably. "We'll be up in a sec, c'mon Matt."

Matt raised his eyebrows at Ivan with a look that said, _do you have to tease him all the time?_

He already knew Ivan's answer.

"Hey, Al," Matt mused as he caught up to his brother, scaling a steep trail up to where the rest of their group were waiting. "Could you really hunt a fox?"

Alfred gave him the thumbs up. "Sure!" he crowed. "Why wouldn't I be able to?"

Matt started laughing again.

* * *

_END CHAPTER EIGHTEEN_

* * *

**Author's Note: **Happy early Thanksgiving to all you Canucks! When I'm making pie I'll be thinking of you~~!


	19. Chapter 19

**Author's Note:** This chapter is stupidly short, but at least something actually happens, hooray!

On a side note, **Moonlight-is-Innocence** recently wrote an omake for this story, and it's sort of fantastic and I love it :) Thank you!

I want to apologize for being so late with this update. I was so busy doing other stuff (and finishing my other story) that I kind of got frazzled and put this on the back burner. BUT! I definitely plan on finishing this, and making the updates quicker. In order to do so you get a shorter chapter, but I hope you'll forgive me D:

* * *

Matt thought this only happened in the movies. He had never actually heard of someone in real life being thrown into a supply closet and cornered by a Hungarian woman holding a spatula in a very menacing manner.

"How are you feeling?" Elizaveta asked him suspiciously, to which Matt offered a weak grin.

"B-better." he replied nervously, edging around, wondering if he could dive towards the door if she was preoccupied.

"Oh, good." Elizaveta's voice was saccharine-sweet. "Maybe you can tell me a little bit about what you did to Mr. Bonnefoy?"

"I - what?" was Matt's unintelligent reply. Elizaveta waved her spatula around as she talked.

"After you left your shift the day before yesterday," she explained. "Mr. Bonnefoy didn't come down for dinner. When I brought it up to him he was holding a glass of port and seemed intent on explaining to me just how upset he was that you had left."

Matt flushed a deep red. "H-he was drunk, I'm sure he didn't know what he was - "

"_Then_," Elizaveta continued in a tone that warned against another interruption, "Yesterday, when he asked after your whereabouts and I told him you were home sick, he went off to his business meeting looking like a zombie. A _zombie_, Matthew."

"I really don't see how this..."

"Look, Matthew." Elizaveta fixed him with a stern look. "I know Mr. Bonnefoy acts like this...sex hungry pervert all the time, and I know he may not look like the type who cares but..." Elizaveta sighed. "A long time ago he loved someone who hurt him, and ever since then he's had trouble taking romance seriously. I think you're the first person I've seen in a while who he's...." she trailed off again and huffed, slapping him lightly on the shoulder with the spatula. "Just go talk to him! I don't like it when my boss mopes around, got it?"

Matt smiled reluctantly. "If - if you really think it'll help, I'll go talk to him." he promised, and Elizaveta fixed him with a stern stare.

"Go talk to him because of what's going on between _you_ two." she reminded him.

She eventually let him out of the supply closet after informing him that he could find Francis in his office, and stood menacingly in the hallway as he walked away. Matt supposed he could have ducked out once he turned the corner and holed up with Sadiq and Heracles in the garden for the afternoon, but that felt wrong. He _wanted_ to talk to Francis, if only to establish what exactly was between them.

Francis's office was located on the first floor, not far from the parlor - if Matt listened closely he could hear the sounds of Roderich, practicing scales. He stood in front of the door, gathering his courage for what seemed like forever.

_Okay_, he thought to himself. _This isn't so hard. Just...talk to him. Apologize for running away. Then excuse yourself. Be polite and sincere. See? Easy. _Well, it didn't feel easy. His heart was going a mile a minute and his palms were starting to sweat. Wringing his hands, Matt finally knocked on the door.

There was a moment of silence. Then Francis's voice filtered through the wood, "Elizaveta? Is that you? Come in!"

Matt didn't want to say anything to the contrary in case the Frenchman turned him away, so he pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The office was a darkly coloured, plushly furnished room. Francis's desk was by the window, and when the Frenchman turned around to say something the light caught his hair and made Matt's breath hitch in his throat.

"Oh..." Francis trailed off when he realized who exactly was there. His face registered confusion but not disappointment or anger - Matt took this as a good sign and forged ahead.

"Good morning, Mr. Bonnefoy." he greeted. Francis did not correct him this time, and nodded.

"Good morning, Mathieu." he replies. "Are you feeling better today?"

There is no tone of suspicion in Francis's voice, no inflection that suggests he _knows_ Matt took a sick day to avoid him, but Matt flinched all the same.

"Ah, yeah." he said (what else can he say?) "Mr. Bonnefoy, I just wanted to come and apologize for...for the other day."

Francis stopped, put down his pen, and rose. "Pardon?" he asked. "I don't understand."

Matt blushed. "I wanted to apologize," he repeated. "For running off on you, and also for getting the wrong impression of what I - of what I meant to you."

"Mathieu." Francis looked absolutely bewildered. "_Mon cher_, please close the door, I think we have some things to discuss."

"What?" Matt obediently doubled back in order to close the door - in the meantime Francis pulled a chair up to his desk.

"Mathieu, we seem to have a misunderstanding on our hands." Francis continued kindly. "Please, explain to me what you mean."

Matt wiped his hands nervously on his slacks. "It's just..." he scrambled helplessly for words. "The way you said you'd done _that_ a lot and how I was...r-really lucky, I assumed you - "

"Mathieu!" Francis cut him off and Matt ducked his head, expecting to be reprimanded. When he dared to glance up, he was bewildered by the expression on Francis's face. His mouth was curved in a sorrowful line. "I don't understand how you could think that, _mon cher_..."

"Y-you said," Matt continued, face heating up, "That you have a very "_voracious personality_" and just the way y-you...you acted, I thought that I was just another..."

There was a stunned silence. "You were just another what?" Francis pressed. When Matt didn't answer, Francis slid to the floor in front of him and grasped the Canadian's hands. "Mathieu, I thought...well, I thought it was obvious! You didn't hear what I said afterwards?"

Matt shrugged awkwardly. "I - I was kind of too flustered to understand you." he admitted.

Francis's face lit up and he chuckled, dipping his head to press a kiss to Matt's thumbs. "Oh, I see!" he laughed. "_Mon cher_, you misunderstand me completely!"

"I do?" Matt asked quizzically. Francis's face was suddenly more open and relieved and Matt blushed at how handsome he looked in that moment.

Francis nodded. "I did not mean to give you the wrong impression," he explained. "I just wanted you to know that before I met you, I had the tendency to...flip, from one relationship to the next. I was, and still am to a degree, a very selfish person. But when I met you?" Francis cocked his head, still clasping Matt's hands. "When I met you, Mathieu, I felt like I wanted to try so very hard to be better. I felt like I wanted to make you happy. I am sorry if I didn't do that."

"I - " Speechless, Matt did the first thing that came to his mind - he leaned down and kissed Francis. He felt the older man jolt, before the Frenchman relaxed into the kiss and brought elegant hands up to tangle in Matt's hair. They parted, with Matt gasping for air.

"I'm sorry I ran away." he blurted out, touching his nose to Francis's. "I'm sorry I misunderstood you, I guess I was doubting myself and I was afraid to give you the wrong impression and I didn't think why you would want to get involved with _me_, of all people, and I - "

Francis shut him up with another kiss, pushing at his lips with a skilled tongue. Matt leaned back in his seat as Francis settled between his legs.

"For all your charms, Mathieu, you are terribly insecure." Francis whispered, laying kisses across Matt's jaw, relishing in the shiver he evoked from the younger man. "I don't see why you have reason to be. Perhaps I should spell it out for you?"

Matt tilted his head as Francis moved down his neck. "S-spell what out for me?" he asked, one hand going up to sift its way through Francis's hair and tugging gently.

"Hmm." Francis breathed against Matt's skin. "How about..._je t'aime_? Or, I like you very much, Mathieu? Or, I think that I would like to see more of you, exclusively? Or..."

"I get it, I get it!" Matt giggled - Francis's breath against his neck was ticklish. Francis seemed to sense this, and Matt couldn't talk anymore, dissolved into laughter when Francis pressed the flat of his tongue up against the curve of his neck.

"Please, stop!" Matt writhed in his seat, pushing against Francis with shaking hands. "I need to answer, I," he finally craned his neck away from Francis's teasing ministrations. "I like you too," he searched for words, "I _really _like you, and I guess I'm nervous about you being my boss, and..." _This one little heist I'm going to pull off, nothing major, probably just cleaning out your entire collection of expensive things. Don't even worry about it, it'll just put a minor blip in our relationship..._

Relationship? Suddenly Matt felt embarrassed, pressed up against a chair by a Frenchman he'd only met a couple of weeks ago.

"Please do not worry about that." Francis insisted, rising gracefully to his feet and helping Matt up after him. "I have told you before, I will be perfectly discrete. There is nothing for you to worry about."

_But there is_. Matt nodded to quell the sick feeling that threatened to rise up in his throat.

"Ah, but before I forget." Francis let go of his hand and moved away, leaving Matt with a sense of disappointment. He rummaged around in the desk before pulling out something Matt recognized. "You left this in my room when you ran out the other day."

Matt took his ring back with trembling fingers. He had completely forgotten about it - who knows what would've happened if Francis hadn't picked it up.

"Th-thanks!" he said breathlessly, hurriedly slipping it on in case he forgot it again. "I always forget things, I'm so careless..."

"It's no problem." Francis said with a smile, shaking his head. Then he leaned down and asked, "Are you free tonight? I'd like it very much if you stayed behind for a drink. Unless you are busy?"

Matt thought about it. "No." he said finally, surprising himself. "I think I have time for a drink."

Francis's smile made him blush. "Oh, good." he nodded, and pressed their lips together. "I am glad."

Matt was glad that no one was in sight when he left Francis's office, since his face felt hot enough to fry an egg on. Francis watched him go with a smirk on his face.

* * *

Kiku had no idea _what_ had possessed Alfred to send him all the way out to Bonnefoy's villa in order to tell Matt that they were going on errands and wouldn't be able to send someone for him after work.

Kiku had been let in by a cheerful, dark-haired girl and had been told to wait in the parlor. He felt a little nervous, coming into the home he was supposed to rob, but since he would be in the van most of the night he decided there was no harm in showing his face.

A pair of glass doors were open, letting light stream into the parlor, and Kiku could just catch the strains of loud conversation that floated into the villa. Hesitantly, Kiku stepped forward, paused, checked to make sure no one was around, then stepped outside.

He took a moment to admire the gardens before focusing his gaze on the main commotion - mainly, two men who looked ready to come to blows. They looked to be gardeners, in soil stained clothes, glistening with sweat from a day's work and yelling things in English and another foreign language Kiku was unfamiliar with.

Kiku hesitated on the veranda, not wanting to become involved in the fight. Finally he cleared his throat, rolled up his sleeves, and asked, "Excuse me, but are you two all right?"

The two men stopped to stare at him. One of them, the younger of the two with a sleepy look on his face, gave him a very obvious, drawn out once over. The older one looked quite offended.

"Hello," the sleepy one said. "We're all right. Who are you?"

Kiku blushed at the young man's rudeness. "I - my name is Honda Kiku," he bowed. "I was just stopping by to deliver a message to my friend."

"I'm Heracles." the younger introduced himself.

"I'm Sadiq." the elder butted in. Heracles shot a glare at him.

Kiku did not like the way the two were eyeing him, and started to back up into the parlor again. "Sorry to have disturbed you." he murmured gently.

"Hey, no, c'mon out here!" Sadiq cajoled, motioning with one large, brown hand. Kiku paused, uncertain. "C'mon, I'll give you a tour of the gardens while you wait for your friend."

Well, the gardens _were_ particularly lovely. Now Heracles was the one who looked put out. "I'll come with you as well." he interjected, earning a grimace from Sadiq.

Kiku found himself sandwiched between the two men, being led haphazardly up and down the gardens. Each man would point something out to him in a loud and theatrical voice, while the other one would smolder.

"It's all very nice." Kiku interjected politely, when really all he wanted to do was walk rapidly towards the car again. "But I really have to go find Matthew."

The two paused. "Matthew Williams?" Sadiq asked. "Scrawny blonde kid?"

Kiku nodded. "I suppose that's one way you could describe him." he admitted.

Sadiq and Heracles exchanged sly glances. "He's talkin' to the boss right now," Sadiq snickered. "An' you know what _that_ means!"

Kiku frowned. "I'm afraid I don't." he said slowly, suspicious of Sadiq's tone. Sadiq was about to continue when Matt came hurtling out of the parlor doors.

"Kiku, hi!" he squeaked, breathing heavily. "Chelles told me someone was here to see me...what can I do for you?"

Kiku smiled at him before turning back to the two gardeners - he missed the look Matt sent their way, warning them of anymore gossip. "Thank you very much for the tour," he told both of them. "It was very nice to meet you."

"No problem." the two of them said simultaneously, then shot each other an acidic glare. Kiku's mouth twitched upwards in amusement before he nodded again and followed Matt back inside.

Matt looked relieved. "Sorry!" he apologized. "They can be a little...overwhelming."

"I gathered." Kiku replied, before adding, "Matthew-san, Alfred wanted me to inform you that we will be unable to send the car for you after work and he asked if you wouldn't mind taking a taxi?"

Matt blinked. "Sure." he agreed. "That's no problem. Are you guys doing errands?"

"Something like that." was Kiku's answer. "Are you sure you will be all right?"

"Yeah, of course!" Matt looked extremely relieved - Kiku's suspicion returned ten fold. "I was actually going to stick around after work to visit one of my co-workers, so I'll just take a taxi when I can."

"I feel like I have to remind you not to get too close." Kiku murmured, a hint of worry in his eyes. "It will hurt very much when you have to complete the job."

Colour flooded Matt's face. "I know, I'm sorry!" he babbled. "It's just, I figured if I visited with them I could get...uh, extra information or something!"

The suspicion did not leave Kiku entirely, but the Japanese man simply smiled. "That is good to hear." he praised. "Well, I'll leave you to it. I will see you later this evening, Matthew-san."

"All right." Matt walked Kiku to the door. "Thank you for telling me, Kiku. Goodbye."

Kiku did not turn around as he walked back to the car, but his mind was buzzing. The pictures, along with the way Matt was acting, were all giving Kiku a bad feeling. He had thought from the start that it was a bad idea to put so much trust on a relative strange, especially one who had no past experiences in the work field, but Alfred had a way of convincing people that had put them all at ease.

Now, though...Kiku chanced a glance back over his shoulder. Matt was leaning in the doorway, watching him go. Their eyes met from across the driveway, and Matt was the first to break the stare, turning and going back inside, shutting the door behind him.

Kiku paused. Then, quickly, he turned and walked back towards the villa, going around the side and finding himself in the gardens again.

Sadiq was nowhere to be seen, but Heracles was there, bending to pick up a spade. Kiku averted his eyes when he found the young gardener to be shirtless.

"Ah...Heracles-san." he called softly, and Heracles looked up with a lazy smile.

"Hi." he greeted. "It's you again. Did you talk to Matt?"

"Yes, I did." Kiku cleared his throat. "Heracles-san, I was wondering if you could help me with something."

Heracles's lazy smile was threatening to turn into something else; it made Kiku's stomach feel very hot. "Sure." he said. "What is it?"

"Sadiq-san said earlier...that Matthew-san was up talking to your boss, Mr. Bonnefoy?" Kiku asked. "What exactly did he mean by his comment?"

Heracles was silent. Kiku pressed, " '_You know what _**_that_**_ means_'?" he reminded the Greek. "Is there something going on with Matthew-san?"

"No." Heracles said finally, staring down at Kiku with unexpected seriousness. "If you want to talk to Matt again I'll go get him for you, but otherwise I should get back to work."

Stunned, Kiku nodded. "I understand." he said quietly. "Thank you for your help."

Heracles looked a little regretful. "Not that I don't think you're a nice guy," he said quickly as Kiku stepped away. "It's just that if you and Matt know each other, you should be asking _him_ that kind of stuff."

Kiku cocked his head, and smiled. "Thank you." he repeated, and Heracles flushed.

"Sure." he muttered.

From beyond the hedges Sadiq yelled, "Oi, kid! If you're takin' a nap over there, I swear - "

"Don't get cranky, old man!" Heracles called back, then turned to Kiku with an apologetic grin. "I should get going. Nice to talk to you again, Kiku."

Kiku ducked his head in a nod, but couldn't help staying for a few moments longer to watch Heracles make his way across the gardens, gripping his shirt in one hand. Finally Kiku averted his eyes, internally berating himself, and walked back out towards the car.

It was too hot a day to be thinking of things like that. Kiku was looking forward to returning to Arthur's house and having something cold to drink.

As the car drove off, Heracles and Sadiq watched it go, both unusually serious.

"Do you think we should tell Matt?" Heracles asked. Sadiq shrugged, scratching his chest absently.

"What good's it gonna do?" he countered. "If the kid's gonna get interrogated, he's gonna get interrogated regardless of what we tell him. Best let him deal with it himself." he spared Heracles an ambiguous glance. "That was a nice thing you did, kid. Coverin' for him."

Heracles, who rarely heard praise coming from the Turk's mouth, least of all directed towards _him_, looked up with surprise. "...Thanks." he replied finally. Sadiq gave a cocky grin.

"Thought you were gonna be seduced by that pretty face." he chuckled. "I was worried for ya, all that red on yer face wasn't healthy."

Heracles stiffened in anger. "Sh-shut up!" he growled, walking away from the Turk and planting himself cross-legged in between the hedges, picking up a pair of shears. He could hear Sadiq still laughing, and Heracles felt his ears grow hot.

Stupid Turk.

* * *

_END CHAPTER NINETEEN_

* * *

Author's Note: If you haven't abandoned this story yet, you are actually my hero! I'm looking forward to having a bit of a lull in my academic schedule, so I'll be working hard at getting chapters out. Sorry for the huge wait!


	20. Chapter 20

**Author's Note:** What? Two updates in such a short time? Shush, I'm trying to redeem myself!

Also, TheBlueBadger has very kindly started to translate On the Bound into German! I don't know if any of you guys speak German, but if you do you should definitely check it out, the first chapter is up! PM TheBlueBadger for the link (hope this is okay, by the way, Badger :D)

* * *

"One week." Arthur said firmly, planting his hands on his desk. "That's how long you have. One week. Please tell me you have something."

Alfred looked unaffected. "'Course we have something!" he assured Arthur. "What do you think we've been doing this whole time?"

"Not a lot." Arthur shot back. Alfred furrowed his brow.

"For someone who has to get other people to do his dirty work, you sure like having a sour disposition."

"I - !" Arthur huffed. "Never mind! What _do_ you have, then?"

As Alfred started to talk, Matt zoned out, looking out the window absently. As the day got closer, Matt found it harder and harder to focus on any talk of the upcoming heist - he was physically starting to become sick with guilt and indecision. Sometimes he thought about just _telling_ Francis, but then the Frenchman would look so happy whenever he saw him that he would chicken out. Besides, what if Francis got really angry and tried to get his brother in trouble? If Alfred went to jail or got hurt, Matt would never forgive himself.

"Matthew." his name jolted the Canadian to attention, and when he looked over, the rest of the group was staring expectantly at him. He blushed.

"S-sorry!" he apologized. Arthur raised an eyebrow.

"Something more important on your mind?" he asked sarcastically. Matt shook his head.

"No, sorry."

"All right. Alfred, would you _repeat_ that so Matthew knows what he's doing?" Arthur looked annoyed and Matt ducked his head in embarrassment.

"Okay, Mattie," Alfred turned to face him, eyes bright. "On the night of the party you need to work late. Help out with the party, serve stuff, whatever. _Then_, around ten....we'll call you, don't worry...I want you to go around and let Ludwig in the back. He'll take care of security, then you do your thing. Like, with the security and stuff."

That wasn't really much to go on. Matt thought for a minute. "Do you want me to shut down just the security system in the room?" he asked. Alfred paused and scratched his head.

"Well, actually, the gates will be electrified," he admitted. "So if you could shut those off too..."

"Sure." Matt waited expectantly. "Anything else?"

"Security cameras." Kiku added. "The security cameras as well."

Matt nodded. Maybe he should be writing this down. "Got it."

"Sweet." Alfred looked pleased. "Thanks Mattie."

Matt tried hard to concentrate as his brother blathered on, but it was difficult - his mind kept wandering back to Francis. The man had opened up to him over the past week or so, and Matt had seen a side of the Frenchman that both surprised and pleased him.

"There was a woman I loved when I was younger," Francis told him one afternoon during Matt's lunch break - the Canadian had stopped eating lunch in the gardens and usually joined Francis in his office. "She was magnificent, Mathieu, a wonderful girl. When I met her, she was going through a tough time with her job - she had a career that was very much geared towards men, and she often joked with me that she should just dress up as a man to help her get further. But throughout everything in her life, she kept a hopeful disposition about her."

Matt had studied the Frenchman's expression as he ate. Francis's face was soft in remembrance, and a faint smile appeared on his lips.

"She sounds like a wonderful person." he replied gently. Francis looked up to smile at him.

"She was." he admitted, and the tone of his voice made Matt uncomfortable.

"What happened to her?" he asked. Francis shrugged.

"Cancer." he said. "At her age, too. She was so upset when it spread but she kept fighting to the end. She was dignified, even in her last moments. That is what I loved about her."

Matt remembered moving to Francis's side, touching his shoulder gently before drawing the older man into an embrace.

Francis had clutched at him with a desperation Matt was unused to seeing.

"I'm sorry." Matt had whispered. "I'm sure wherever she is, she's proud of you."

Francis had said nothing, but his grip had tightened around Matt's waist, and the Canadian had been content to stay like that, face buried in Francis's hair.

When Matt looked up again, brought back to the present, Alfred had finished talking and was now standing over him with an amused look in his eyes.

"You know you get a glazed look on your face when you zone out?" the American asked. "Watch it or you'll start drooling."

"Thanks Al." Matt rolled his eyes and stood up.

"Is something wrong?" Alfred asked. When Matt blinked, taken aback, he hastened to add, "It's just that you've been quiet lately...more than usual, I mean, and I was wondering if you were having any trouble with Ivan?"

"Oh, no!" Matt exclaimed. "It's nothing like that. It's just that...." well, he might as well be a little honest with Alfred. "I'm sort of having second thoughts. About this."

Alfred's face was solemn. "Oh, Mattie." he groaned. "Is _that_ why you've been acting so weird? Kiku thought you were having problems with Bonnefoy..."

"No, no!" Panicking, Matt threw his hands up in defense. "Nothing like that!" _Lie_. "I'm just really nervous." _At least that was true_.

"Aw." to his surprise, Alfred was grinning at him. "Mattie, that's silly. You got _nothing_ to worry about. I told you, I'd take care of everything!"

"I know." Matt mumbled. "I guess I'm just thinking of all the things that could go wrong."

Alfred nodded knowingly. "That's natural." he assured. "Happens to all of us, 'specially around "crunch time". What I do is, I think of all the worst things that could happen, then I think of solutions! That way, I'm prepared for _anything_!"

But how, Matt thought as he smiled and thanked his brother, was he supposed to think of a solution to this problem when everything ended in making Francis unhappy?

* * *

"I'm going to fall asleep." Matt declared. He was currently sitting on the floor of Francis's office, leaning against the older man's legs. Francis was perched on a chair, hair tied back, wearing a wide necked shirt because of the heat, his skillful fingers massaging Matt's scalp.

"Don't." there was amusement in the Frenchman's voice. "I am telling you, Mathieu, stimulating the scalp is an important part of hair maintenance." he shifted his knee so it pressed insistently against Matt's shoulder, shaking him from his drowsiness.

"I think - " Matt interrupted himself with a yawn. " - that people just say that so rich people like you will spend money on ridiculous hair massages and lotions and things."

Francis chuckled. His hands ghosted over Matt's ears, down his neck, and began kneading his shoulders. Matt shifted and hummed in approval.

"My, Mathieu, you are very tense." Francis teased. "Something on your mind?"

Francis missed the way the Canadian's breath hitched, choosing instead to continue massaging Matt's shoulders.

"Mmm, Francis, that feels...r-really good." Matt gasped. The tone of his voice made Francis lick his lips, and the older man slid from the chair to sit behind Matt, sliding his legs out on either side of the young man.

"I have been told," Francis purred in the Canadian's ear, "that I give very good massages."

Matt reached out and slid a hand shyly up Francis's left leg. "I agree." he replied.

Something shuddered through Francis's body and he kept the heel of his right palm working away at Matt's lower back. With his other hand he swept away the light downy hairs at Matt's nape and began kissing the younger man there.

Matt let out a groaning laugh as Francis applied a bit of teeth. "Is this - is this how you were taught to give a massage?" he teased breathlessly. Francis laughed against Matt's skin.

"I am accustomed to improvising." he admitted, abandoning the massage entirely in favor of running his hands up and down the young man's torso, trying to memorize every inch of skin.

Matt arched against Francis, giving a little "_umph__!_" when Francis pinched at his skin.

"Do you own a suit, _mon cher_?" he asked, nibbling at Matt's earlobe - the other blonde gave a mumbled response, but the shake of his head was answer enough. "Well, I know a very good place in town that sells quality suits," Francis continued. "What I am trying to lead into, Mathieu, is would you like to be my date to a party I am holding next week?"

Matt stilled in Francis's arms. Fate, whoever She was, must love to see him suffer, he thought sourly. Francis, mistaking his stillness for apprehension (which it was, in part), wrapped his arms around the young man's waist and squeezed.

"It would make me very happy if you came." he added. Matt groaned.

"All right." he said, adding when Francis nuzzled his neck, "But I'm not very good at...going to parties."

"What is there to be good at?" Francis asked laughingly. "You arrive at the party. You mingle. There is no skill in that."

Matt rolled his eyes. "Well, then, you can't get mad when I make a fool of myself." he said, half-jokingly. Francis planted a kiss on his shoulder blade.

"How could I ever be angry at you?" the Frenchman wondered with a chuckle.

_You'd be surprised_, Matt thought bitterly, leaning against the older man's chest.

* * *

"Do you have any threes?"

"No. Go fish."

"Fuck that!" Gilbert said vehemently, tossing his cards down and taking another sip of beer. "Matt, you never have _anything_ I want!"

"Oh, sorry." Matt replied dryly. "I'm doing it on purpose."

"_Knew it_." Gilbert seethed, picking another card from the pile and scowling down at it.

"Gilbert, do _you_ have a three?" Ivan asked innocently from across the table. Matt swore he could see Gilbert's eye twitch. The albino all but threw his three of hearts at Ivan.

"I hate this game." he declared, crossing his arms.

"I do not!" Ivan retorted cheerfully, laying down yet another pair of cards.

"Of course you don't," Matt laughed. "You keep winning."

"That is why it is a good game." Ivan replied. "I think we should start betting!"

"Watch, you'll say that and then you'll start getting bad luck." Matt teased, putting down a pair of fours. Gilbert glowered at his hand.

"Ivan." he ground out. "Do you have a king?"

Ivan tilted his head, examining his cards. "Why, yes I do." he murmured, taking out the card from his hand. "You see, Matthew? There is enough luck to go around."

Matt shook his head. "Gilbert, you have a five?" he asked. Gilbert stuck out his tongue.

"Nope! Start fishing, my Canadian friend."

Matt heaved an exaggerated sigh as he took another card. "Luck is a fickle thing." he bemoaned, a grin tugging at his lips.

"_Tell_ me about it." Gilbert muttered. Ivan gave a grunt of confirmation.

Matt resisted the urge to laugh. Here they were in Arthur's parlor, gathered around a card table, playing _Go Fish_ of all things, drinks in hand. He crossed his legs and leaned back in his armchair, staring at his cards.

"Do you have a two, Matthew?" Ivan asked politely. Matt pursed his lips in annoyance, before handing it over. Ivan looked pleased.

"What are you guys doing?" Alfred appeared in the doorway, grinning. "Oh my God, Mattie, you aren't playing _Go Fish_, are you?!"

Matt flushed. "N-no?" he tried. Alfred laughed.

"You _so_ are! That's hilarious, that was the only card game you were good at when we were kids! Remember I tried to teach you poker...?"

Matt hid his face behind the jack of spades and the six of diamonds. Gilbert snickered.

"This is a kid's game!"

"Yes, thanks Gilbert." Matt grumbled. "Look, do you want to play or not, Al?"

Alfred considered this. Then he shrugged and sat down on the arm of Matt's chair. "Sure!" he said. "Deal me in."

Twenty minutes later, Matt was holding his cards to his chest, only risking peeking when someone asked for a card. Alfred was hovering above him, glasses set far down on his nose. Gilbert and Ivan were glancing between the brothers and their cards, looking thoroughly amused.

"Hey, hey Mattie." Alfred sounded triumphant. "Have any jacks?"

Matt gasped. "No fair, you looked!" he accused. Alfred pouted.

"I did not!"

"You did too!"

"Did _not_!"

"Did _too_!"

"_What_ are you bickering about?" Arthur had appeared in the doorway and the brothers stopped.

Alfred, a look on his face like that of a simpering child, muttered, "He started it."

Matt wanted to deny it, but from the look on Arthur's face he thought better of it.

Arthur rolled his eyes and took a seat on the couch next to Ivan. "Poor baby." he mocked. Alfred huffed and got up off Matt's chair arm, sitting next to Arthur and flinging his legs over the Brit's lap.

"Don't make fun of me!" he ordered, blue eyes sparkling. "I thought you were on my side."

"I am." Arthur agreed in exasperation, though he made no move to push Alfred's legs off him. "Except when you're doing something stupid."

Matt laughed. "Would you like to play too, Mr. Kirkland?" he asked. Arthur shook his head.

"I don't play Go Fish." he said, in that peculiarly English fashion that made Go Fish seem equal to playing hopscotch. "But please, carry on." he looked with mild interest as Alfred showed the Brit his cards with eager enthusiasm.

Ludwig showed up after a while, beer in hand, and ignored his brother as Gilbert tried to deal him in.

_The gang's all here_, Matt thought. Well, except for Kiku, who had excused himself quietly at dinner and had gone up to his room.

"Don't worry about Kiku." Gilbert had told him when Matt asked. "He's the quiet type. Likes being alone every once in a while."

After six -_ that's right, count them, six_ - games of Go Fish, four of which Ivan won, one of which Alfred won and one of which Matt won (yeah, Gilbert was pissed), everyone dropped their cards and followed Gilbert's lead into the kitchen to ask Feliks for (or harass him into giving them) a late night snack. Matt stayed behind to pick up the cards and shuffle them into an orderly pile.

When he looked up, Kiku was standing in the doorway. Matt blinked. "Hi, Kiku." he said. "How are you?"

Kiku stepped into the room and closed the door. Matt stood, getting a bad feeling about the Japanese man's silence.

In one swift movement Kiku closed the distance between them and gripped Matt's shoulders with his small, pale hands.

"You are going to ruin everything if you are not careful." Kiku told him. Matt was struck speechless with surprise, could only stare as Kiku frowned at him.

"Don't do it. You'll only end up hurting everyone else if you continue to be selfish."

"I - I'm not..." Matt gathered his linguistic abilities long enough to croak out a few words. "Kiku, I don't know what you're talking ab - "

"I won't tell." Kiku assured him, dark eyes locked with his. "I like you, Matthew-san, so I won't tell Kirkland-san if you promise to stop immediately. If something goes wrong this late in the game, something terrible could happen."

"O-okay." Matt could only stammer. "I - I will, I'll stop."

Kiku gave him one more stare, before releasing him. "Good." his voice was smooth and cool. "That is a good choice, Matthew-san. As I said before, I like you, I do not want anything to happen to you."

Kiku sounded like he was threatening him, and Matt had to repress a shudder.

"O-okay." he repeated.

Kiku gave him a curt nod, touched his elbow briefly in farewell, and left the parlor. Matt had to stop his knees from shaking before he could follow.

* * *

"There we go." Francis, who had seconds earlier been rummaging around in his armoire, drew back with a triumphant expression on his face. He turned to Matt, who had taken a few steps out onto the balcony, reveling in the slight coolness that permeated the morning before the sun heated the air. Matt, who had been watching a bird alight on the nearby beech tree, turned his head.

"Did you find it?" he asked. Francis nodded, and beckoned with his hand. His white dress shirt was rolled up at the sleeves; he looked crisp and clean. Matt obediently approached him. The Frenchman even _smelled_ clean, and fresh, like a light flower. Matt had to stop himself from inhaling Francis's cologne.

Francis took hold of Matt's shoulder, and looped the tie in his hands around the younger man's neck. "I told you before, you look stunning in blue." Francis told him. "With the dark suit, it will look even better."

Matt bit his lip in thought as he watched Francis's hands elegantly knot the tie, pull it close to his neck. His fingers brushed the Canadian's neck, hit the pulse that thrummed under his jaw. Matt lifted his eyes to lock them with Francis's.

"Thank you." he said shyly, and lifted on his tip toes to kiss him, briefly. Francis smiled against the kiss, settling one hand on Matt's hip.

"You will look so handsome, Mathieu." he told him. "I cannot wait to see you all dressed up."

Matt faltered as Francis squeezed his hip gently and then walked past him, towards the balcony. The sky was an endless blue, and a light breeze ruffled the trees. It caught Francis's hair and sent a golden strand sweeping across his face, catching at the corner of his mouth. The Frenchman laughed quietly to himself, eyes fixed on the sky, and with one thumb he pushed the strand aside.

Matt's heart felt like it had pushed itself up uncomfortably to his throat. "Francis." he called.

The Frenchman didn't look at him, still looking at the sky, but he raised his eyebrows to indicate he'd heard him. "Yes, _mon cher_?"

Matt opened his mouth, but nothing came out. What did he think he was going to say to him? Tell him all about the plan? Beg his forgiveness? It was way too late for that.

Matt had the sudden urge to cry. _Now_ Francis was looking at him, eyebrows still raised expectantly. "Mathieu?" he pressed.

Matt managed a painful smile. "N-nothing." he replied. "Just thinking."

In his suitcase, Matt had a mini-calendar, one of those free ones you get for a promotional item, or for attending a seminar, or something. Matt had forgotten where he'd acquired it. The day of the heist was circled in thick black marker. Each subsequent day was crossed off in a violent strike.

There were only four more unmarked days left.

* * *

_END CHAPTER TWENTY_

_

* * *

**Author's Note: **I can't actually play any card game except Slap Jack, Cheat, and Go Fish. You know. Kid's games. I recently volunteered at a Halloween event in my city, and I had to act like a poker playing werewolf in a saloon. The other two guys who were in the poker game tried to actually teach me poker, but I made them play Go Fish instead. We were trying to be serious, scary werewolves, gathered around a table in a dim saloon, asking each other if we had any threes in the manliest, gruffest voices we could._


	21. Chapter 21

**Author's Note:** I think one of my favourite parts of reading your guys' reviews is seeing your thoughts on how the story is going to end! I never realized until recently how many different ways I could end this, but since the sixth or seventh chapter I have written out how everything is going to go. You guys have FANTASTIC ideas, and I can only hope the way I chose to resolve everything is up to your expectations :)

Also? It gives me immense relief to know that I am not alone when it comes to cards. All my friends are these crazy card wizards, my friend can shuffle a deck and make the cards do backflips through the air for God's sake, and I always end up staring at them like I'm an idiot when they start to decide which card game to play.

* * *

Matt had a bad feeling from the moment he woke up. Kiku stared at him throughout breakfast, that even, unsettling look that set Matt's hair on end. Kiku tried to corner him after breakfast, but Matt escaped just in time, slipping out the door and into the car. The last he saw of Kiku, the Japanese man was standing at the front door, watching the car drive away.

Eduard, driving the car as usual, noticed his unease and tried to talk to him. Matt answered with half-hearted responses, mind still on Kiku's indecipherable stare.

Kiku had said he wouldn't tell Arthur if Matt stopped getting involved. And it wasn't like Matt hadn't been careful these last few days - he had always removed his ring before interacting with Francis, he hadn't stayed late after work anymore for drinks...there would be no reason for Kiku to suspect that Matt wasn't following through.

When he arrived at the house Elizaveta told him idly, while he was helping her knead dough, that Francis took his resume from her yesterday to read over. A cold lump started to gather in his stomach. Even Roderich, who seemed to make a point of avoiding contact with the "lower staff", inquired as to why Mr. Bonnefoy was acting so funny. Matt spent the first half of the day in suspenseful agony, wondering if Francis was going to swoop down on him with an accusation. When lunch time arrived without fanfare, Matt allowed himself to relax a little. Elizaveta handed him a tray with a playful wink and sent him off to Francis's office, just like any other, normal, day. When Matt knocked on the office door, there was no answer.

Seeing as how Francis was usually in his office every day at lunchtime, Matt frowned and called, "Francis?"

When there was only silence Matt turned from the door, wondering if the man was up in his room instead.

"I'm here, Mathieu," said a low voice behind him, and Matt jumped. Francis had opened the door while his back was turned and was now leaning against the threshold, arms crossed.

"Oh!" Matt laughed weakly. "Hi, I have your meal." Francis gave him an impassive look.

"Come in."

Hesitantly, Matt edged by the Frenchman. The office was dim; the curtains drawn.

"Are you all right?" Matt asked, turning his head as Francis softly shut the office door behind him.

"Please put the tray down on my desk, Mathieu." Francis's calm, even tone was starting to worry Matt, but the Canadian hastened to obey, setting down the wooden tray gently, moving papers in order to clear a spot. He brushed aside a file folder and was greeted with the sight of his own face staring back up at him. It was the photo from his passport, and Matt lifted a suddenly shaking hand to touch the photograph.

"Wh - Francis, what's going on?" he murmured, turned around to face him.

Francis had closed the distance between them while Matt was putting the tray down, and slammed him back against the desk, pinned him there by his shoulders. Matt's eyes went wide and he scrabbled for purchase, his hands eventually flying to Francis's wrists.

"Hey - " he gasped, but the Frenchman's icy glare stopped him dead in his tracks.

"Oh, _mon Mathieu_," the older man groaned, sounding so disappointed and upset and..._heartbroken_. "How could _you_, of all people, do this to me?"

"I..." Faltering, Matt decided to go the path of ignorance. "I don't understand what you're - "

"_Please_ don't play dumb with me." Francis ordered, and he walked Matt sideways and backwards until the the back of the youth's knees hit a chair and he crumpled into it. Francis swiftly knelt, pinning him down, pushing his legs apart and settling in between them. Matt blushed.

"I...I really don't." he admitted. "Not when you just start saying these things all of a sudden..."

"I remember, now, why your face looked so familiar." Francis began. His hands were on Matt's thighs, keeping them spread, and he began rubbing his fingers ever so gently over the Canadian's fabric-covered legs. Matt suppressed a groan, instead focussing on the utter _seriousness_ in the Frenchman's eyes.

"Your brother...when I went to drop off an invitation to my party to that Englishman a month or so ago, I saw your brother at his house."

Matt's heart stopped. "My...my brother?" he repeated. Francis gave a wry smile.

"You two look very much alike." he commented, adding, "Though his features are sharper. Yours are more...angelic."

Matt didn't react to that, instead attempting to get to his feet. "I still don't understand what this - "

"_Asseyez-vous_." Francis's voice acquired the sharp, steely tone he often used for his business deals and Matt stopped moving.

"You know the history between Kirkland and I," Francis purred. "So you know that I was tempted to do some research on your brother. I found out the most _interesting_ things about him, Mathieu. Like how he's been dabbling in the wrong side of the law. About how he and his team work as thieves for hire. And how there is a rumor going around that him and Arthur Kirkland have been seen together for _more_ than just business."

His hands tightened on Matt's thighs. Matt couldn't help bringing his fingers to his mouth, biting down on his nails. This wasn't good. This wasn't good at all. What was he supposed to do now?

"I can understand why you wouldn't want to put something like that on your resume, Mathieu." the Frenchman breathed. "Though you seemed perfectly fine with fabricating the rest of it."

Matt groaned, and Francis let out a chuckle. "_Tu es très astucieux_," he murmured. "Very clever. Either that, or Kirkland didn't think I would suspect such a pretty, innocent little _garçon_ such as yourself."

"Francis..." Matt tried, but Francis shook his head.

"You have betrayed me, Mathieu." he said sadly. "I must congratulate you, however, I truly believed that you and I had some sort of relationship."

"Just listen to me for a second!" Matt pleaded, and Francis paused, meeting his eyes. Matt felt absolute guilt rolling in his stomach. He had never seen Francis expose this much vulnerability before.

"I - my brother phoned me a month ago," he explained. "And asked me to come visit him in London. When I arrived he told me that he needed my help in a - in a heist he'd been hired to do. I never...I hadn't seen my brother in _five years_ and my mother had made me promise to protect him. Arthur...Mr. Kirkland...didn't seem like he would tolerate my backing out and Alfred...I couldn't just leave him. So I agreed to help."

"That is supposed to make me feel better?" Francis asked coldly. Stung, Matt pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes.

"I am so sorry, Francis." he mumbled. "At first I was willing to do it...f-for my brother, but after I met you, it kept getting harder and harder to go through with. I tried to tell you once but I knew it wouldn't matter by that time."

There was a silence. Matt didn't dare to look at Francis, instead turning his head to stare at his bookshelf, at the elaborately bound books that he had looked through only yesterday.

"What should I do with you then, hm?" Francis asked after a while, voice humorless. "Shall I try to bargain with Kirkland for your life? Shall I "convince" you to share information with me? Berwald is very good at interrogation, you know. Tell me, Mathieu, if someone betrayed _you_, what would you do?"

Matt ground his teeth to the point of pain, focused still on the bookshelf. "I deserve it." he mumbled. "Whatever you do to me, I deserve it. I'm so sorry, Francis."

There was another silence - Matt could hear Francis's breathing, deep and steady. One of his hands moved, almost reassuringly, over Matt's leg, and the Canadian entertained a small bit of hope.

"Get out." Francis finally said. Matt blinked and dared to turn his head to look at Francis. Francis's face was a blank, ambiguous mask; he had emotionally sealed himself away, Matt realized with a sinking heart.

"I - " he began, but Francis seized him by his upper arm and hauled him to his feet.

"I said get out." the Frenchman repeated. "Don't ever come back here. Your wages will be sent to the address on your resume."

Matt didn't bother to tell him that address was fake - Francis probably already knew.

Francis let go of his arm and Matt stumbled the rest of the way out the door.

"Francis, I - " he started. Francis shut the door in his face.

Matt stared at the wood for several seconds; then he bit his lip and tried very hard to keep from crying.

Everything he had been fearing had come crashing down on him in a matter of minutes, and no matter what Alfred said Matt could not dream up a solution to this problem. He felt like he was drowning from the inside, clawing desperately at anything that could save him.

He ran into Chelles on the stairs. The girl, carrying a load of fresh laundry, took one look at his face and demanded, "Matthew? Matthew, what's the matter?"

Matt managed a watery smile. "I'm sorry, Chelles." he told her. "For everything, I hope you can forgive me."

"What?" bewildered, Chelles looked up the stairs. "Did something happen between you and Mr. Bonnefoy?"

Matt simply smiled and moved down the stairs. "Thank you for everything." he told her.

"Wait!" when Matt didn't pause, Chelles went thundering upstairs. "Mr. Bonnefoy!" he heard her call. "_Ou êtes-vous_?! Mr. Bonnefoy - !"

Matt didn't look back.

* * *

He took a taxi back to Arthur's villa, staring blankly out the window, a morose frown on his face. The taxi driver tried once or twice to strike up a conversation, but Matt didn't really want to talk to anyone at the moment.

When he got out, the driver gave him a sympathetic look.

"I hope whatever it is, works out." he said in broken English, and drove off before Matt could say anything.

Reassurance from a stranger didn't make Matt feel any better; he felt even worse when he let himself into the house and was greeted by Raivis, who immediately began quivering and stammered, "O - oh God, did something happen?"

At Matt's quizzical look, the teenager blushed and explained, "You...you look so _sad_, I thought - "

"I got fired." Matt interrupted, and Raivis's eyes went wide.

"Oh." he mumbled. "I'm s-sorry. Are you going to tell Mr. Kirkland?"

Why not? Matt's life couldn't get any worse. "Yeah." he answered. "Is he in his study?"

Raivis nodded, then added quickly, "But you might want to knock first! He took Mr. Honda up there a few minutes ago a-and they might still be talking."

Oh, scratch that. His life _could_ get worse. Matt hurriedly thanked the boy and hastened up the stairs. He didn't even _bother_ to knock, just let himself in, fearing the worst.

Kiku wasn't there. Instead, Arthur looked up from where he was hunched over his desk. He looked angrier than Matt had ever seen him, green eyes flashing, lip curled in disgust.

"What the _fuck_ are these." his voice was low and acrid, and Matt was confused until he saw the stack of photos Arthur was brandishing at him.

The photos Matt had asked Kiku to delete, the ones that had been kept in a folder on the Japanese man's computer, the ones that were currently printed out in glossy, high definition colour and in the hands of a very angry British gentleman.

Matt took a step back.

"_Don't_ move." Arthur barked. "Wait until your brother gets here, and I will decide what to do with you."

"Mr. Kirkland, please let me explain!" Matt cried.

He received a sneer. "A picture's worth a thousand words, don't you think?" asked Arthur, holding up a picture of Francis staring up at the camera, mouth on Matt's hands. Then he snorted. "You selfish brat. Were you willing to throw away everything we worked for in order to be that pervert's little favourite?"

Matt flushed with shame and shook his head - his tongue felt too thick to get any words out.

"Hey, you wanted to see me - Mattie? You're home early!" Alfred poked his head around the door, beaming. His smile dimmed a little with worry when Matt threw himself at his older brother, shuddering with repressed tears.

"Hey, hey." Alfred soothed, rubbing a hand between Matt's shoulder blades. "Mattie, it's okay, calm down, ssh..."

Arthur approached the two brothers and shoved the pictures into Alfred's hands. Matt buried his face into his brother's shoulder as Alfred looked through the pictures with a puzzled look on his face.

"I'm sorry!" Matt groaned finally, when he couldn't stand the silence. "I - I went to work and F-Francis recognized you so he researched _your_ background and he researched _my_ background and he f-found out and told me to get out but I _love_ him and I feel so horrible - "

"Matt." came Alfred's incredulous voice, but the Canadian was being pulled away by Arthur, who looked absolutely furious.

"Don't be foolish!" Arthur snapped. "You do _not_ love him!"

It felt like a weight had been lifted off his heart. "I - I do." Matt repeated, drying his eyes. "I _do_ love him, and I never told him but it doesn't matter now because he hates me." Matt looked over at his brother, who was staring at him slack-jawed. "I betrayed you too." he admitted. "I was supposed to have your back, and Mom always told me to keep an eye on you and take care of you but...but I have so much _guilt_. Over everything."

Alfred cleared his throat and tried again. "Matt..."

"This is a nightmare." Arthur muttered angrily. "Everything's ruined, the party is three days away." he turned to glower at Matt. "If you hadn't gotten _involved_ with that man, he wouldn't have been tempted to do research on you."

Huffing, the Brit paced the length of his office. The brothers wisely stayed silent. "No one ever listens to me." he growled. "I _know_ how Bonnefoy operates, I've been a _victim_ for God's sake, he has more connections than a centipede has legs. He _likes_ getting information about people, it gives him a perverse sense of control in his relationships."

Alfred looped a reassuring arm around Matt's waist. "Let's not panic." he said quickly. "And jeezus, Artie, lay off, can't you see he's upset?"

Alfred turned to Matt, eyes honest and painfully forgiving. "It's okay, Mattie, we'll just have to change our plans. We'll make it more offensive, we'll stage a break in or a distraction..."

"No." Matt heard himself say. Alfred furrowed his brow.

"What?"

"I can't - I can't do it anymore." Matt gently removed his brother's arm with regret. "I'm sorry Al but I...it would be better if I just left."

"What? No?" Alfred's voice was frantic and he forced a laugh. "You're joking, right? C'mon Mattie, we're a team..."

Matt shook his head. "You have your own team," he countered. "I can't be a part of this. I won't. I'll...find my own way home."

"Matt!" there was definitely anger and hurt in Alfred's tone, and the American looked helplessly over at Arthur. "Arthur, help me out here!"

Arthur regarded Matt coolly. "The boy has a point," he told Alfred. "He's been more of a hinderance than a help thus far."

Matt's eyes stung. He turned away from the Brit, to his brother. Alfred looked stunned.

"Please, don't go." Alfred said quietly. "I need you to help me."

"No, you don't." Matt told him. "You've never needed me to help you. You just thought you did."

After Matt left the office, he passed Kiku in the halls - the Japanese man didn't say anything, and when they met each other's eyes Matt didn't see any maliciousness or satisfaction in Kiku's stare.

He didn't see any sympathy, either.

Matt made it all the way down the road from Arthur's villa before he allowed himself to cry - even then, it was merely a wetness around the eyes, a sniffle or two. His lungs burned with the intense desire to sob, but he had too much on his mind. He had nowhere to go - both the man he loved _and_ his brother were angry with him. In a month he'd managed to ruin everything.

Matt reached for his cell to call a cab. His heart still hurt, he realized, an aching, throbbing sensation that made him want to retch. He figured it would be a long time before he got over Francis Bonnefoy.

* * *

Matt didn't have enough money for the cab to take him all the way to his intended destination, so he paid what he could, then got out in the middle of Marseilles and walked.

When Ivan grabbed him off the street, Matt was so surprised he didn't even cry out. He settled for gasping when Ivan put an arm around his shoulder and held him there, smiling broadly.

"And where would you be going, Matthew?" he asked.

"N-nowhere." Ivan's hand was painful tight on his arm now. Ivan laughed, and motioned to the building behind them.

"Mm-hmm? Then why are you walking towards police station?"

Matt's blood ran cold as he realized where he was. "I wasn't - Ivan, I was just passing by, I wasn't going to - "

Ivan tilted his head. "You do not look very much like a snitch to me." he told the shorter man. "But somehow I do not believe you."

"Please, Ivan..." Matt's breath hitched as he was almost pulled off his feet.

"I will take you back to the house," Ivan told him. "We will talk there, yes?"

"Let go of me!" Matt yelled hoping to attract attention. Ivan didn't seemed bothered when several people stopped to stare.

"Hey, Matthew?!" Lars appeared in Matt's peripheral, and Matt practically deflated with relief.

"Lars!" he called back. The Dutchman abandoned his flower stall and came striding over, grey eyes worried.

"Let go of him!" he demanded of Ivan, fists curled at his sides. Then he swore in Dutch as Ivan effortlessly grabbed him in a headlock.

"Ah, I remember you!" Ivan told him as Lars thrashed around in his grip. "You are the flower boy! Matthew, this is your friend from town? The one you love?"

Lars stilled in shock. "No!" Matt replied quickly, recognizing the look on the Russian's face. "He's not, let him go Ivan!"

Ivan considered this. "All right." he said carelessly, and dropped Lars. Lars scrambled to his feet and drew from his apron pocket a small canister.

"Listen, buddy." he growled. "Drop him or I'll mace you."

Ivan did not look convinced.

"Ivan, come on." Matt insisted. "We're _right_ by a police station, this isn't worth it."

Ivan was not smiling anymore; without letting go of Matt he leaned down and murmured in the Canadian's ear, "The next time I see you, I will not let you go."

Matt shuddered. His placid smile returning, Ivan released Matt, nodded sardonically to Lars, and retreated down the street as if nothing had happened.

Matt grasped Lars's arm - the tall man supported him.

"Who _was_ that?" Lars asked at the same time as Matt laughed weakly, "You carry _mace_?"

They stared at each other awkwardly for a moment. "My mum gave it to me when I left for school." Lars answered him, putting the canister away. "I've only had to use it once or twice. Who was that?"

Suddenly all the exhaustion and emotion of the day caught up to Matt and, light headed, he sunk to his knees.

"Holy shit." Lars said, hurrying to kneel next to him. "Matt? You all right?"

"I messed up." Matt told him dully. "I messed up _so bad_, Lars, now I have nowhere to go and my brother's mad at me and I have no idea what to do!"

"Whoa!" Lars looked alarmed. "Just slow down, you're white as a sheet...c'mon, I'l take you back to my apartment, you can stay there while I work..."

Luckily, they were close by Lars's apartment - Matt felt drained and depressed, and Lars was patient enough to walk slowly, asking him meaningless questions every once in a while to make sure he wasn't going to faint.

The worry on his friend's face made Matt feel horribly guilty, and as Lars locked up his cart Matt apologized for the umpteenth time that day.

"I'm so sorry, Lars. I've fucked everything up. I don't know what I was thinking, coming here and inconveniencing you, I could seriously find a hostel - "

Lars clapped a hand over his mouth, a soft grin breaking out over his features.

"Shut up Matt." he teased. "Come upstairs, I'll make you some tea."

The relief Matt felt made his eyes well up again. Embarrassed, he wiped at his eyes.

"J-jeez, sorry." he laughed weakly. "Wish we could've met under better circumstances, e-eh?"

Lars took his hand. "Come on, _schat_." he soothed. "Up we go."

Once they reached Lars's apartment, Matt sank gratefully onto the couch while Lars sailed into the kitchen with the promise that he'd be right back. Matt entertained himself by focusing his gaze on the television opposite him and letting his mind go blank.

Lars came back with a cup of tea, which he had put in the microwave to make. Then he sat down next to Matt, who was still staring blankly at the television.

"So, ah." Lars made a weak attempt at a joke. "No pot this time, I'm guessing?"

Matt's throat closed up. "I've ruined everything." he told Lars in a deadpan, and Lars sidled up to him, worry in his eyes.

"No, you haven't." the Dutch man countered. "You can fix it, I promise!"

"What if I can't, though?" the Canadian whispered. "What if I...messed things up so bad that I can't ever g-get what I want?" he was having trouble breathing, trying to fight down the horrible urge to cry (not now, not on Lars's couch after the man had been so kind to him). Lars wrapped his arm around him and leaned their heads together.

"You're tired." he hummed. "You're obviously going to think that it's the end of the world now. But once you get some rest you're going to feel better. All right?"

"All right." Matt agreed automatically. Lars sighed and pressed his mouth soundlessly to Matt's temple.

"_Lieverd_." he sighed. "You should sleep." Lars began talking to him in a steady stream of Dutch. Matt had no idea what he was saying ("_Ik heb je zo erg gemist_" was murmured at some point) but his low voice was lulling him into a very sleepy state.

"I'm sorry again." he murmured, face pressed awkwardly against Lars's ear as the taller man lowered him down onto the couch. "For intruding."

"Oh, _l__ieverd_." Lars laughed. "You aren't intruding. Now sleep. I'll be off work at five. We'll talk then. There's food in the cupboard if you need it. _Slaap zacht_, Matthew."

Matt turned his face towards the couch cushions. Only when he heard Lars gather his keys and leave did he allow himself to start crying.

_Oh, Francis_. he thought hopelessly, shaking with the effort to subdue his sobs. _What have I done_?

* * *

True to his word, Lars came home with a take out bag hanging off his arm, and used hot food to entice Matt into sharing his story.

Matt tried not to give anything away - which was relatively easy as long as he left out the words "heist", "stealing things", "illegal", and "strip chess ending in a blow job". In fact, as he recounted it, he realized the whole thing sounded like a badly written romance novel - a bright eyed young thing goes to work in the home of a rich, attractive man. Sparks fly. Sexy times ensue. Lars was sympathetic enough, though he was a little unclear as to _what _Matt did exactly that prompted such an unfortunate conclusion. Matt didn't want to enlighten him. As he talked to Lars he felt himself relaxing. Lars had a cheerful way of talking that made one forget their problems, if only for a moment, and it took Matt away from that part of him that wanted to curl up in a ball and weep hysterically.

"Well," Lars had said at the end of it, standing up and sweeping their Styrofoam dishes off the table. "You can stay here until you figure out what to do."

Matt had thanked him profusely. Lars had waved him off.

That night Matt, unable to sleep, had instead gone online and booked himself a flight back to Ottawa (it was a good thing, he reasoned, that he was a dorky traveler and carried his passport with him at all times - seeing as how his suitcase was currently sitting in his room at Arthur's villa). It would leave the day after - one day before the heist. Matt didn't want to stick around to find out what would happen. And it would be all right, he reasoned. Alfred, for all his immature enthusiasm, was a bright guy. He wouldn't do anything stupid that would result in him getting into trouble.

That was Matt's _hope_, at any rate.

But Lars, it turned out, could be really annoying when he wanted to be.

After a day of Matt sleeping on his couch, Lars turned to the Canadian during breakfast (the Dutchman could make the best waffles of _life_) and asked, "So what are you going to do?"

Startled, Matt replied, "Uh, well, my flight leaves tomorrow, so I - "

"No." Lars interrupted, leaning on the counter. "What are you going to do about that _guy_?"

Matt looked at him like he was crazy. "There's not much I _can_ do, eh?" he said miserably. "He won't talk to me. He hates me."

Lars slapped him upside the head. While Matt spluttered in surprise, Lars told him, "Listen, you're a sweet kid, but sometimes you can be downright _stupid_."

"E-_excuse_ me?!" Matt demanded. Lars nodded, but his eyes were mirthful.

"It's obvious you care for this guy, so why are you letting him go so easily?"

"B-but..." Matt tried. Lars rolled his eyes.

"He hates you, _I get it_. And he's gonna _continue_ to hate you if you don't go and _talk to him_. Maybe at the end of it, he'll feel the same, but maybe he won't. And that's a chance you'll just have to take!"

Matt rubbed his head slowly, staring at his friend in wonder.

"The point is, Mattie, is that I'm kicking you out for your own good." Lars proclaimed after a few seconds of silence. When Matt protested, Lars shook his head. "Don't try to convince me otherwise."

Matt tried the puppy dog eyes. Lars looked stricken for a moment, but then covered his face with his hands. "No!" he repeated firmly. "That is _no_ fair, and you know it Matt!"

Matt laughed, a sound of relief. He embraced his startled Dutch friend, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Thank you." he said sincerely when Lars flushed a dark red. "I was being an idiot, wasn't I?"

"Yes." Lars nodded. "But that's okay. I wasn't expecting you to be smart all the time."

Matt laughed again.

"Oh," Lars said as someone knocked on his door. "I forgot. There's someone here to talk to you."

"Me?" Matt asked, confused as he followed Lars to the front door.

"Yeah." Lars confirmed, undoing the chain. "I sorta...got his number from your phone. Hope you don't mind."

"Wait, when did you have my - " Matt started, but then Lars swung the door open and Matt could only gape.

"A-Alfred?" he finally asked incredulously.

His brother was standing in the doorway, shifting uncomfortably on his feet, one side of his face suspiciously bruised, a weak grin on his face.

"Hey Mattie."

* * *

_END CHAPTER TWENTY ONE_

* * *

**Translations:**

_Schat_ - Dutch pet name

_Lieverd_ - another Dutch pet name...

_Ik heb je zo erg gemist_ - Dutch for "I missed you so much"

_Slaap zacht_ - Dutch for "sleep well" (thank you **EBIL DUSTBUNNY OF DOOOOM **for correcting me!)

**Author's Note:** NEVER MICROWAVE WATER IN ORDER TO MAKE TEA. The proper British gentleman in me will wail. And beat you about the head.


	22. Chapter 22

**Author's Note:** Next chapter is here! The story's coming to a close pretty fast, so I hope you'll stick around until the end! Thanks for reading!

* * *

"Al, what are you doing here?" Matt asked in astonishment as his brother hesitantly stepped into Lars's apartment, two suitcases in hand.

"Ah...I kept trying and trying your cell phone, and then this guy picked up," Alfred jerked a thumb at Lars, who had a too-innocent expression on his face, "And told me where you were and said you'd be happy if I came."

"Wh - " Matt turned on Lars, but the Dutchman was pulling on his coat.

"See ya! I'm off to work!" Lars chirped, kissing Matt playfully on the cheek.

"You don't start work for another two hours!" Matt squawked but Lars, with a wink, disappeared out the front door.

Matt was left staring awkwardly at his brother.

"Uh, well..." Matt trailed off and looked around the apartment. "You - there's some coffee in the kitchen I could make - "

"Matt, I'm sorry." Alfred blurted out, shoving his hands in the pockets of his bomber jacket. Matt blinked, startled.

"Why are _you_ sorry?" he asked incredulously. "I'm the one who fucked everything up!"

"I'm sorry if you felt like you _had_ to help me," Alfred said all in a rush. "And I'm sorry you didn't feel comfortable enough to _tell_ me you loved Francis - "

"Al, that's not it at all!" Mat exclaimed, but Alfred held his hands up.

"Please, just wait." he begged. "I was practicin' this the whole way over." he took a deep breath. "'Kay, uh...I'm sorry I didn't stick up for you when Arthur was getting angry, and I hope my quitting sorta makes up for it."

At Matt's incredulous look, Alfred grinned. "Yeah," he nodded, "I told Arthur that I couldn't go through with it if it would hurt you. And, uh, I'm guessing robbing someone my little bro cares about would count as hurting you."

Matt literally was at a loss for words. Finally, he squeaked out, "What did Mr. Kirkland say?"

Alfred scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. "He didn't really..._say_ anything, specifically." he admitted. "Kinda got really red. Swore a lot. Started using a lot of slang."

"Did he..." Matt gestured at Alfred's cheek, which was swelling. Alfred touched it absently, as if he'd forgotten it was there.

"Oh - he threw a book at me. I don't think he really meant to _hit_ me - I think he was trying to scare me. You should've seen his face when I got clobbered." Alfred prodded his cheek with a wince. "Thought the old geezer was going to have a heart attack. So I packed up my stuff - brought yours too, by the way - and left."

"But...but Al you got _hired_ for this!" Matt couldn't think of what to say. "You spent _months_ working on this heist, wh-why...?"

"Look, Mattie." Alfred slung an arm around his shoulders. "You're family. And family is always my number one!" Matt caught the said, wistful look that appeared for a split second in Alfred's eyes - the fact that his brother would leave Arthur to help him made Matt feel oddly touched. "So!" Alfred clapped his hands together. "As a hero, I'm here to help you get your boyfriend back!"

Matt flushed. "A-Al..." he muttered. There was something acutely embarrassing about talking to your brother about "boyfriends". But what Alfred was trying to do was heartening, and Matt wanted him to know it was appreciated.

"Thanks, Al. I'm really glad you came to find me."

Alfred looked pleased. "Well shucks Matt!" he chirped. "That's just what heroes do!"

Matt smiled. "Yeah." he agreed. A bit of colour appeared on Alfred's face.

"Okay!" the American cleared his throat. "So I've figured out a plan!"

Hope swelled in Matt's chest. "R-really?" he stammered. "That's great, Al! What is it?"

"All right, so we hitch a ride to Bonnefoy's place..." Alfred began, eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. Matt couldn't help leaning forward, anticipating a genius plan. "...I distract the staff..."

Matt nodded.

"...then _you_ climb through Bonnefoy's bedroom window and apologize!" Alfred finished grandly.

Hope plummeted like a paperweight in an elevator shaft.

It must of shown on Matt's face because Alfred hurried to add, "I - it's not the _best_ plan, I kinda made it up...on the spot, actually. But don't worry, he'll _totally_ be impressed if you climb through his window just to apologize!"

"Yeah, or he'll have his security guard _shoot me_." Matt muttered under his breath. "And, honestly, Al, I don't see _why_ he would believe me, or accept my apology. It's not like I can say, _this time, it'll be different. Trust me! When have I ever lied to you except that one time?_"

Alfred wrinkled his nose in thought. "Well, how d'you _know_ unless you _try_?" he asked.

Matt sighed. "You and Lars sound the same." he complained. "You both make me feel like I'm surrounded by motivational posters."

Alfred shot him a measured look. "Speaking of..." he said. "what's the deal between you and him?"

"Uh...I met him in town one day," Matt explained. "We sorta hit it off."

Alfred nodded sagely. "He smells like pot." he announced. "And the way he looks at you - "

"Alfred." Matt said warningly, and his brother dropped the subject.

There was a pause as Matt dipped a bowl into the sink's soapy water and rinsed it. Then Alfred asked excitedly, "So! You gonna do it?"

Matt didn't know whether to hug his brother or throttle him. There was a strange feeling building inside him, like he was at the top of a roller-coaster track waiting for the drop. To even _entertain_ the notion that Francis might _listen _to him, might even _try_ to forgive him...that was setting himself up for certain disappointment if the chance wasn't strong enough.

"Fine," he sighed. "Why not? It's not like I have anything left to lose..."

"Attaboy!" Alfred crowed, slapping him between the shoulder blades. "Don't worry, Mattie, I couldn't think of _anyone_ saying no to my little brother!"

Matt rolled his eyes as Alfred pulled his cell from his jacket.

"Hold on, I'll call Lars," he announced. "he said he'd help us out."

"You exchanged _numbers_?" Matt asked, a little miffed at being left out of the loop, but Alfred was already chatting away.

Alfred announced, after hanging up, "Lars is going to help us get to Bonnefoy's villa!"

"How?" Matt asked as Alfred started moving around the apartment, pulling fresh clothing from Matt's suitcase and getting his shoes from beside the door. "Lars doesn't have a car!"

Alfred paused. "Yeah." he agreed thoughtfully. "But he said his neighbor did. Or something."

"Who would lend _Lars_ their car?" Matt asked himself - Alfred interrupted him by saying that he couldn't chase after love in slept in clothes and that if he didn't try to make his hair look more awesome Alfred would take scissors to it. By the time Lars got back to the apartment Matt had brushed his teeth, attempted to control his curls, and put on a blue blazer and dark jeans. Lars whistled playfully, causing Matt to colour.

"Well, if the guy doesn't get back with you then he's obviously a little dim in the head."

Alfred was examining his brother with pride. "Yup!" he agreed. "You _did_ get some of my good genes after all, huh bro?"

"I didn't get them from _you_ - " Matt tried, but Lars and Alfred hooked onto his arms and hustled him out the door. Moving down the hallway, Lars paaused a few doors down and knocked sharply.

"I know you're in there, Noah~!" he called sweetly. "Open up!"

When there was no answer, Lars continued, "Seriously, I can stand out here al-l-l-l day!"

Matt heard a bolt slide. "Of course you can," someone grumbled from within. "Not like you have a _job_ to go to."

The man who opened the door looked a mixture of half-awake and extremely disgruntled. His brown hair was disheveled and his elegant features - high cheekbones, sharp angular nose - were twisted in annoyance. He sighed tiredly, one hand curled 'round the side of the door.

"What do you _want_, Lars?" he asked. Lars grinned.

"Can I borrow your car, Noah?" the Dutchman asked Noah looked at him incredulously.

"What? No! Why?!"

Lars caught Matt by the shoulders and shoved him to the front of the trio. "This boy need to find his _love_!" he declared dramatically, shaking Matt a little for emphasis. "Your car is the key, would you deny him this?"

Matt stared at Noah, wide eyed. "P-please?" he added. Noah frowned.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"This is Matt." Lars supplied, then let go of the Canadian in favor of putting his hands on Noah's shoulders. Matt and Alfred exchanged wondering glances when Noah's face turned red.

"Noah," Lars said solemnly. "Please. I will never ask you for anything again. I will be the best neighbor ever from this point on."

If possible, Noah's face got redder. "Fine." he huffed. "But if you do something to it I'll wring your neck."

"Yes!" Lars cheered as Noah reluctantly retreated into his apartment and returned with a ring of keys, which he dropped into the blonde's hand. "I owe you, man. Next time you come over, I'll save you a...little something-something."

Lars mimed putting a joint to his mouth and waggled his eyebrows.

"Wh - you pothead!" Noah snapped guiltily. "That's not what I - just bring my car back in one piece!" he slammed he door shut.

"He doesn't like people knowing," Lars told them as they moved down the stairs, "But you should see him when he's high as a kite! Like he's hopped up on happy pills."

"And totally gay for the Dutchman, too," Alfred muttered to his brother once they were out of Lars's earshot. Matt rolled his eyes at Alfred's choice of phrasing, but silently agreed.

* * *

Lars and Alfred insisted on treating this like a spy mission - Matt just wanted to get there in one piece. When they passed someone on the road Lars told them to act "as normal as possible". When they left the city and the backdrop of buildings gave way to a rural landscape, Alfred started humming the Mission Impossible theme song. After a minute, Lars joined in. By the time they drove up the gravel road that led to the Bonnefoy villa, Matt was _more_ than ready to face his fears and confront Francis, if only to get the hell out of the car. Lars parked before they came into view of the house.

"Okay, remember the plan." Alfred told him, completely serious, as if Matt's part in this involved a great series of backflips. "_I'll_ go in and distract 'em - _you_ go 'round the back."

Matt gave his brother a lack luster thumbs up. "Got it."

Seemingly oblivious to Matt's lack of enthusiasm, Alfred returned the gesture. "Great!" he chirped. "Operation "Save the Love" is a go! I'll go in ahead - follow me after a few minutes."

"Al, be care - " Matt started, but Alfred was already jumped out of the car and was striding towards the villa with confidence.

Matt sighed. "I think he's so bent out of shape about all this because he's hoping Arthur will take him back after this is over." he told Lars.

The Dutchman leaned on the steering wheel and chuckled. "Man, your brother is something else!" he exclaimed.

"Yeah," Matt admitted with a smile. "Sometimes I wonder where his head is. But he's always so...charismatic and cheerful that I usually forgive him."

When he looked up, Lars's dark grey eyes were focused on him. He blinked.

"Good luck." Lars told him solemnly. "I hope you get him back, I really do. You're kind of mopey when you're unhappy, it'll be nice to see you smile."

"Really?" Matt scoffed sarcastically, and clambered forward, sliding into the passenger's seat. He smiled warmly at the Dutchman.

"Thank you for all your help, Lars." he said, clasping Lars's hand in his own. "I seriously don't know what I would've done without you. If you hadn't knocked some sense into me, I'd probably still be lying on your couch, feeling sorry for myself!"

The hand in his tightened, and suddenly Lars was pulling him in for a kiss, nothing extravagant, just a quick touch of the lips and tilt of the head that left Matt stunned.

"Your guy's a real idiot for letting you go in the first place." Lars reiterated, wiping absently at his bottom lip with his thumb. "He's probably kicking himself right now, so you'd better hurry up and got to him."

Lars took his hand away and watched as Matt slipped out of the car. The Canadian turned. "Lars..."

"If it doesn't work out," Lars said loudly, hands poised over the steering wheel, "You should come and say goodbye to me before you go back home." he leaned closer and murmured, "_I'd_ never make you cry, Matt. Just saying."

"Thank you." Matt said (what else _was_ there to say?), and shut the door.

He waited for Lars to turn the car around and head back down the road before walking up to the Bonnefoy villa. Alfred was nowhere to be seen, so Matt assumed all had gone "according to plan". Steeling himself, Matt headed for the gardens.

Alfred, he would later learn, had been greeted at the door by Chelles, who had momentarily mistaken him for Matt and demanded to know why he quit.

"Calm down, little lady," Alfred had supposedly said, "I'm Matt's brother."

At that point Chelles had bombarded him with questions, leaving Alfred's job of "distracting" completed.

Well, sort of. By this time Matt had reached the beech tree that stretched up to Francis's balcony. Taking a deep breath, Matt grabbed onto a lower branch and tried to pull himself up.

"You know, I saw a play about this once." said a gravelly voice behind him.

Matt's arms went slack and he dropped back down to the ground. Sadiq was behind him, leaning idly on a shovel; beside him, Heracles crouched to scratch his cat behind its ears.

"You gonna start spouting Shakespeare now?" Sadiq cackled.

Matt's ears turned red. "Well, it was worth a try." he grumbled, leaning against the trunk.

The gardeners exchanged glances. "It's _your_ fault you know." Heracles told Sadiq absently. "If you'd given him more jobs to do, he wouldn't be so scrawny."

Instead of snapping at the Greek like he usually did, Sadiq looked thoughtful. "You have a point." he admitted - Matt's mouth dropped open from surprise. "Don't know _how_ he's gonna climb that tree with those little arms."

Matt was about to argue that he was actually _quite_ strong, thank you, he'd climbed loads of trees when he was younger, he could manage on his own, but the two suddenly moved forwards; Sadiq dropped to one knee and interlocked his fingers, while Heracles held up his hands.

Matt stared at them. "You're helping?" he asked. "But..."

"You're never going to make it up on your own." Sadiq muttered "So just get on with it. An' you better do a lot of groveling once you're up there!" he added gruffly. "He's pretty mad."

Matt was blushing, self-conscious as he placed his left foot on Sadiq's cupped palms and raised himself up with help from the the Turk - Heracles put a firm hand on his lower back to steady him.

Higher up on the tree it became easier to push himself from branch to branch, scaling with relative speed.

"He's a _scrawny monkey_!" he heard Sadiq exclaim, and Matt grinned as he came level with the balcony. The glass French doors were shut and Matt hesitated, looking down at the gardeners through the foliage.

"He's still in there," Heracles answered his unspoken questions. "And Chelles unlocks those doors every morning."

Matt nodded. "Thank you." he called down. Sadiq snorted.

"Good luck." Heracles said; then the two gardeners turned and left Matt sitting in the beech tree. It was a bit of a struggle to get from the tree to the balcony - eventually Matt just sucked it up and leapt recklessly over the distance. He caught his elbow on the railing and went sprawling gracelessly across the balcony, wind knocked out of him. Trying to catch his breath, Matt stared at the doors, having second thoughts. What was he _doing_? He just climbed a tree and jumped onto a balcony - for what? What was he going to _say_?

"Oh hey," Matt muttered sourly, clambering to his hands and knees. "Don't freak out, but I'm in your bedroom like a crazy ex, and I want to apologize."

He paused. _That_, he realized, was really all he wanted. He wanted Francis to know that he was _sorry_. If Francis didn't want him back, Matt wouldn't argue. All he wanted was to see the Frenchman happy.

This thought seemed to give Matt some reassurance and, with one last look around the now-deserted gardens, he quietly turned the handle and let himself in.

The room was dark, and silent. Matt could hear deep, even breathing coming from the bed, and he stepped slowly into the middle of the room. He had a feeling Francis would not appreciate a wake up call, especially from him.

As he got closer he could make out the figure of the Frenchman lying on his side, hair spilled out against the pillow. Matt quietly sat down on the bed, brushed feather-light fingers over Francis's hand.

"I love you." he murmured, the coward's way, in the darkness. "I'm sorry I'm too scared to tell it to your face."

Matt paused, looked down at Francis. "I should have said something. About everything. But I didn't want...what we had...to end." Matt laughed bitterly. "I-isn't that stupid? I mean _of course_ it would end, it was inevitable, but maybe a perverse part of me kept hoping that if I kept avoiding it, it wouldn't happen." Matt laughed again, quiet, and dared to touch the Frenchman's hand again. "I'm a coward and a crybaby," he admitted to Francis. "And I don't deserve you at all."

"Not with that attitude you don't." Francis said, calmly for one who has just woken up to find someone in their bedroom, sitting up in bed and folding his legs under him. Matt yelped and fell sideways off the bed.

"S-s-sorry!" he exclaimed, scrambling to get to his feet. "I'm s-so, so sorry, I didn't realize you were..."

"You were talking quite loudly." Francis pointed out.

Crouching on the floor, frustrated and stung by Francis's flat tone, Matt couldn't stop his voice from hitching.

"I - I thought, for some stupid reason, I c-could come back and fix things," he whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut. "I wanted-d to apologize - "

"Mathieu," Francis sighed, sounding weary. "Come here."

Matt looked up. Francis had switched on the bedside light, and his face looked troubled and tired. In disbelief, Matt crawled back onto the bed and collapsed into Francis's arms, a choked sound tearing itself from his throat.

"There, there," Francis murmured, rocking him slightly. "It's not the end of the world for you, is it? You're young, talented. You have a family in Canada. At the very least, I'm sure you pleased Kirkland with your little "seduction"..."

"...n't s'posed to." Matt muttered into Francis's shoulder. The Frenchman stilled.

"Pardon?" he asked mildly.

"I wasn't supposed to." Matt repeated. "S-seduce you, I mean. I was supposed to be gathering information on your h-household, Mr. Kirkland was furious when he heard I was hanging around you."

Francis chuckled. "Silly boy." he admonished. "What did Kirkland say about _that_?"

"He blamed me for ruining the job and I quit." Matt told him, calming down. "I quit because I couldn't do it anymore."

"Then why come back?" asked Francis.

"Because I lo - " Matt started but Francis put a hand in his hair.

"Please don't say it again." he said. "I don't think I could bear it if you said it again."

Matt mumbled a "sorry" and they stayed like that for a while, Matt curled into Francis's side while the Frenchman idly brushed fingers through his hair.

"I will not lie and say that I am not still hurt, and angry." Francis finally said. "With you _and_ with myself, also, for not seeing this coming."

Matt nodded into the man's shoulder, unsurprised by the statement.

"But," here Francis sighed. "I will not lie and say that I feel nothing for you, Mathieu."

Matt had no idea hope could balloon so quickly in one's chest. He drew back, shyly meeting Francis's eyes. The man looked so weary that Matt just wanted to run his fingers cross his face, erase the frown lines around his mouth and brow.

"I'm sorry I hurt you." he told Francis. "All those times I pulled away or - or shut you out. I was only focusing on not getting hurt and I never realized _you_ might be hurting, too."

Francis smiled. "Ah, _cher_, that is because you are young. You can never really look away from yourself until you are old and regretful, like I am."

Matt opened his mouth to tell Francis that he was _not_ old at all but Francis, a sly gleam in his eye, said, "And here I thought you were just shy and overwhelmed by _moi_, when really you were _undercover_."

Matt grimaced in embarrassment. "I was a shy spy." he admitted. "That combination is usually bad news."

Francis laughed, and agreed.

"Mr. Bonnefoy," Matt spoke up after a few seconds. "My brother and I would be willing to help you in whatever way we can, to help stop this - "

"Your brother?" Francis interrupted in surprise. "Wasn't he in charge of all this?"

"He quit, too." Matt admitted with a blush. "He came after me when I left."

Francis stared at him. "You are by far," the Frenchman admitted. "The strangest boy I have ever met. Why don't you start from the beginning, hm?"

With a rush of relief, Matt did - he told him about his brother's phone call, his trip to London, the job proposition that he just _couldn't_ refuse. He told Francis about his task, what he was supposed to do; how when he returned to the Kirkland manor after being fired Kiku had exposed him to Arthur, leading to his subsequent stay on a Dutch man's couch. At the end of it Francis was unsettlingly quiet.

"You've never done this before?" he asked incredulously. "Kirkland just...flew you in and told you to work?"

Matt nodded, hesitant. Francis snorted.

"That Englishman." he spat in disdain. "Hires a professional team and then sends an innocent boy to _spy_ on me. It is _just_ like him, he _always_ does this..."

"Mr. Kirkland _often_ hires people to perform heists?" Matt asked a bit sarcastically, but Francis was up and out of bed, pacing the floor of his bedroom in nothing but a pair of silk boxers. Matt tried to stop from staring at Francis's long, lean, golden form, but when the Frenchman turned back to him, the smirk on his lips told Matt that he'd been caught looking.

"I wonder, Mathieu," Francis announced, stroking his chin idly. "If you and your brother would help me pull a _counter strike_?"

"A counter strike?" Matt repeated, folding his legs and leaning back on Francis's bed. "I - we could _try_, but it's so late..."

"Do not worry about that." Francis interrupted. "I will take care of it. Where is your brother now?"

"He's downstairs." Matt replied. At Francis's odd look, he elaborated, "He said he'd "distract" while I snuck round the back..."

Francis looked half amused and half disheartened. "Well, it is a good thing I will be thinking up the plan, _non_?" he sighed, reaching for his clothing, folded over a chair. "Come Mathieu, let us go talk to him."

Alfred was in the kitchen, chatting with Chelles and Elizaveta. When the two women caught sigh of Matt they nearly bowled him over in excitement. As Matt was being fawned over, Francis approached Alfred, who was sitting at the kitchen table.

"So _you_ are Kirkland's American plaything, hm?" Francis asked, extending a hand. Alfred grasped it with a sunny smile.

"Hey, yeah! And _you're_ the frog who made my brother cry, huh?" he shot back. "Nice to meet you! Sorry about that whole "stealing stuff from you" bit."

"_Bien sûr_." Francis withdrew his hand and leaned forward. "Now, _mon ami_, would you be willing to help your brother and I out with something? Here is what I am thinking..."

* * *

_END CHAPTER TWENTY TWO_

* * *

**Author's Note:** If you know who Noah is that's great! If not...don't worry about it, it's not important. Just another OC to fill the space!


	23. Chapter 23

**Author's Note:** Haha so there was a typo in the last chapter. Instead of "counter heist" I meant to write "counter strike". Matt will not be stealing things from Arthur, are you crazy, the Brit would punch him in the balls. However, the team will find it's a LITTLE harder to carry out their plan than they had originally thought....I'll let you read to find out ;)

Also, happy belated Halloween, everyone!! I hope you all got lots of candy/partied hard/whatever else you do on Halloween. Due to time constraints, alcohol consumption, and the fact that the girl whose house I was crashing at after a lukewarm club sesh on Jasper Ave didn't have any fresh fruit on hand, I couldn't bury an apple for the dead as per custom. So I hung my (fake) (costume) pearls up as an appeasement for the fairies. My friend's cat batted them down afterwards, though, so I'm thinking the fairies demand a little more high quality stuff than a string of pearls from Value Village. Lesson learned, Fair Folk. Lesson learned. Anyways, hope you enjoy!

* * *

The guests started arriving at half past seven - Mikkel was at the front to open the gates. The lights were on in the front, bathing the driveway in light, and Matt could have sworn someone had put confetti in the main fountains. Fairy lights had been strung up in the hedges and beech trees of the garden, and tables and chairs had been placed out on the patio if guests wanted to enjoy some fresh air.

In the kitchen, Matt draped an apron over his suit and tried to help Elizaveta with the dishes. He received a swat for his pains.

"I can handle myself." she insisted, busy arranging hors d'oeuvres on a dish. "Mr. Bonnefoy needs you upstairs."

"But..." Matt trailed off, hand inching towards the dishcloth - Elizaveta slapped his hand with a spatula.

"Don't be nervous." she commanded, waving the utensil at him. "He's counting on you."

"But I'm not good at mingling and talking to lots of people." Matt complained as Elizaveta pulled the apron off him and started fixing his hair. "Plus what if _Mr. Kirkland _shows up?"

"Well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it." Elizaveta hummed, smoothing out his lapels. "As for you not being good at mingling....you're a lovely, charming boy, so there's nothing for you to worry about." she patted his shoulders as he blushed, and then pulled from the cupboard a camera. Matt blinked.

"What - ?"

"You're just too cute. Smile, Matthew." the camera flashed and she admired the view frame. "Aw." after a second she looked up at him. "Well? Hurry!" she urged, and Matt made a fuss as she herded him out the door.

The central part of the party would be held in the parlor, where Roderich was entertaining with the piano. The main foyer was also brightly lit for guests to mingle and spread out - and of course the patio was available. There were already a fair amount of people present and Matt gave them little nods and hesitant smiles as he passed, searching for Francis.

The Frenchman was in the parlor, holding a glass of champagne and chatting with an older, grey-haired man. Matt's breath stuck in his throat. Francis was wearing a simple black suit that made his blonde hair, this night pulled back in a ponytail at the base of his neck, look even more golden. It accentuated his slim figure and the striking dark red wine-coloured tie, which bright against the black and white. Matt nervously straightened his own dark coloured suit. He didn't look _half_ as good dressed up as Francis did. The Frenchman made it look natural - Matt just felt _silly_ and constricted. He tugged once more at his dark blue tie and waited for Francis to finish his conversation.

The grey haired man smiled and moved on; Francis turned and caught sight of Matt. For a moment neither of them said anything, and Francis allowed his eyes to drift up and down, examining Matt's outfit. Matt, for his part, just felt awkward. He wasn't sure how to approach Francis. The older man had made it clear that he was _not_ entirely forgiven, so Matt made sure to give him a cordial berth; however, whenever their eyes met, or Matt caught Francis staring at him out of the corner of his eye, it made the Canadian confused and unsure of himself. Should he try to make the first move? Should he wait until this whole business was over with before trying to figure out where they stood? As he was thinking this Francis walked over to him with a second flute of champagne, a small smile on his face.

"_There_ you are." he greeted. "I was starting to wonder where you'd gotten to."

Matt forced a smile and managed to take the champagne without his fingers shaking. "Sorry." he apologized. "I was talking to Elizaveta downstairs."

Francis hummed and placed a hand on Matt's lower back, guiding him around the room.

"Try to relax, Mathieu," he suggested. "You look tense."

Matt laughed, awkwardly. "I'm not _trying_ to be." he admitted. "I'm just...nervous. About everything."

After a moment's hesitation, Francis's hand slid to Matt's hip, so the Frenchman had a loose arm around his waist.

"Do not be nervous." he assured. "Your brother tells me that everything is going well on his end, and if any complications arise I will take care of them."

The warm weight of Francis's arm was just as comforting as his words, and Matt felt his shoulders automatically drop. Francis chuckled.

"You wind yourself up over nothing, _cher_." he told him. "Just go with the flow for once."

"Last time I did _that_ - " Matt started, but didn't finish. _Last time I did that, I got involved in a heist and ended up hurting a person I really care about._

Matt opened his mouth to try to say something; he didn't know what, but he felt obligated to strike up a conversation. However, Francis spotted someone in the crowd and suddenly he was pulling on Matt's waist.

"Antonio has arrived!" Francis sounded happy. "Come, Mathieu, we'll go greet him."

"I can stay here - " Matt protested, but Francis was already dragging him across the parlor. Out of the corner of his eye Matt could see Roderich seated at the piano, giving the both of them an ambiguous look.

"Tonio!" Francis trilled, letting go of Matt in favor of wrapping an arm around the Spaniard's shoulders. Matt felt momentarily disappointed. "You made it!"

Antonio grinned brilliantly. "Yup!" he chirped. "I got a few days off from work just for this!"

Francis pushed their heads together, arm dropping lower, onto the Spaniard's slim hips. "How glad I am to have such a wonderful friend~" he purred.

"Oi!" Matt jumped as a brunette pushed past him, seized Antonio by the upper arm, and pulled him away so sharply Francis stumbled for a minute.

"H-hands off!" the little brunette sputtered, face red, before turning to Antonio. "And you, you bastard - ! Don't you know when people are making a pass at you?"

Matt frowned - Francis's face was a picture of innocence, and the Spaniard laughed in delight, as if he found the other man's temperament to be humorous.

"He's not making a pass at me!" Antonio insisted, ruffling the brunette's hair - the other man yowled in protest. "This is just my friend, Francis Bonnefoy. He's our host. Francis, this is my boss, Lovino Vargas!"

Francis raised his eyebrows and plucked Romano's hand from where it was clutching protectively at Antonio's shoulder. "A pleasure, _mon cher_." he said, brushing his lips over the back of the Italian's hand.

Lovino's face was beet red. "G-get off me!" he protested, and edged behind the Spaniard. "_Chigi_! I didn't know your taste in friends was _this_ bad, Antonio!"

"Don't mind him." Antonio told Francis cheerfully, as if Lovino hadn't just insulted him. "He's shy."

"Sh-shut up!" Lovino muttered into Antonio's shirt.

"Ah, and here's Lovino's brother!" Antonio beckoned to another brunette, with such similar features to Lovino that Matt assumed they were twins. The brother, however, had a kinder, rounder face, and his eyes seemed half closed in pleasure.

"And this is Feliciano Vargas." Antonio said, motioning. Feliciano waved broadly, though they were only standing centimeters apart.

"Hi! Are you the host? Thanks so much for having us!"

Francis looked amused at the monumental difference between the two Vargas brothers, and assured the other brother that the pleasure was all his.

Meanwhile, Matt was standing awkwardly behind the Frenchman, wondering if he should wander off and try to keep himself occupied elsewhere. Then Francis stepped back, put his arm back around Matt's waist, and nudged him forward.

"Antonio, you remember Mathieu?" he asked. Antonio's eyes lit up knowingly and he nodded to Matt.

"Of course. Hello again, how are you?"

"F-fine, thank you." Matt stammered. "You?"

"Very well!" Antonio hummed. Feliciano surged forward and grabbed Matt's hand, pumping it up and down enthusiastically.

"Nice to meet you!" he exclaimed. "I'm Feliciano!"

"Hi, Feliciano." Matt laughed. Francis looked amused.

Matt saw Alfred approaching them in the crowd, in a white suit that surprisingly looked quite good on him, but when he raised his arm to wave Alfred ducked behind a table of appetizers. Frowning, Matt excused himself from the conversation, and went to find his brother.

Alfred pulled him around the corner as soon as he was within arm's reach.

"Al!" Matt hissed. "What's wrong?"

"That - " Alfred jerked a thumb in Francis's direction, face set in a serious scowl. "Matt, those two Italians, I know them!"

"Really? From where?" Matt was curious.

"One of them's sweet on Ludwig." Alfred told him solemnly. "Matt, they might be in cahoots with Arthur. I don't know why else they'd be here..."

"R-really?" Matt peeked over his shoulder. "What should we do?"

Alfred thought for a minute. "Keep an eye on the happy one. Feliciano. Maybe Ludwig called in a favor to keep the numbers up. Just watch him. Okay?"

Matt nodded. "Got it. Are you...?"

"I'll keep watch. Vash did a sweet job of transferring the camera feeds to my laptop." Alfred gave him the thumbs up. "Don't worry. I gotta get back, though, bro, so talk to you later."

"Yeah." Matt smiled, and went back to Francis.

"Do you want a drink?" he asked the small group - Lovino and Francis (who still had a half-full glass) declined, but Feliciano and Antonio indicated their interests. Matt went off in search of the champagne glasses, but when he returned Feliciano had disappeared. A cold feeling surfaced in Matt's gut.

"Where did Feliciano go?" he asked Antonio, handing one of the flutes to him.

"Ah...the washroom, I think he said." Antonio answered carelessly. Lovino, keeping a stubborn arm linked through the Spaniard's, took his brother's flute with a tight frown.

Matt met Francis's eyes, trying to will him to understand that something fishy might be going on. With a quirk of his eyebrows the Frenchman ran a hand through Matt's hair.

"Mathieu, why don't you go check on Michelle?" he asked and, gladly, Matt nodded and left the parlor.

He climbed the stairs nervously, hesitantly, wondering what he should do. Should he call Alfred? But Alfred was busy with other things and if Feliciano turned out to be as cheerful and innocent as he seemed, Matt didn't want to bother him.

He caught a glimpse of brown hair and flattened himself against the wall, silent. Feliciano was strolling down the hallway, hands interlaced behind his back, occasionally stopping to examine, with interest, the paintings on Francis's walls. Matt felt himself relax marginally. The man was simply exploring the house, he reasoned, he was just being paranoid. Alfred had instilled exaggerated suspicions in him, that's all.

But then Feliciano looked over his shoulder (Matt ducked behind a corner), pulled out a cell phone, and punched in a number.

"Hi~!" he trilled. "Yup, I'm upstairs like you said. Uh-huh...yeah, okay~ See you there!" Feliciano hung up and proceeded down the hallway with quick, sure movements.

Well, _that_ certainly made the suspicion return. After a few seconds Matt followed him, moving as silently as he could, heart hammering in his chest.

As soon as Matt saw Feliciano heading for the security room door, he knew something was up. Gathering his courage, Matt walked up behind the Italian.

"Excuse me," he said softly. "You're not supposed to be here."

Feliciano turned, soft brown eyes lighting up. "Ve~! Matthew, hello!" he greeted. "I'm very sorry, but I have to go in here~!" from his jacket pocket he pulled a small revolver, and pointed it at Matt with a cheerful smile on his face. "I hope you understand!"

Matt's eyes widened - then he pulled his own gun out from behind his back. "I'm sorry, too." he murmured. "But I have to stop you from doing that."

"Ah." Feliciano's smile widened. "Matthew, I should tell you, I'm really really good with a gun~! I can shoot a man's kneecaps off from across the room! So I really would like it if you went back downstairs!"

Matt suppressed a shudder - he didn't even know how to _use_ a gun, Francis had simply pressed it into his hands this morning and told him to take it as a safety precaution.

"I can't." Matt said simply, though as he did he feared for the safety of his kneecaps. "I helped create this mess. It's only fair I help stop it."

Feliciano's expression showed only pleasant bewilderment, but he held his revolver with the sure and practiced ease of a professional who was not afraid to use it when he had to.

"Ah, you are the one who quit!" the Italian suddenly exclaimed with realization. "Of course, and now you've switched sides! I hope Francis is treating you well!"

"Feliciano." Matt raised his gun in what he hoped was a menacing gesture (his hands weren't shaking, that was a good sign). Feliciano sighed lightly, regarding him with a faintly amused look one might give an over active puppy.

"I'll make you a deal!" the brunette finally said. "I'll drop my weapon - " he let go of his gun, and it clattered noisily to the floor. "And you and I will go into the security room together, okay? But I won't be armed, which will be good for you!"

"I - " Matt hesitated, and Feliciano cocked his head.

"All right?" the little Italian asked. "Okay, so I'll put my hands above my head - " Feliciano raised his arms, " - and you put the gun against my back so that I don't try anything funny."

Reluctantly, Matt stepped closer so that he could kick the revolver out of Feliciano's reach. "Feliciano, come back downstairs with me." he urged. "I really don't want to hurt you, and I don't want you to go in there."

"No, no!" Feliciano protested, reaching behind him and grabbing Matt's gun. Matt's thumb slipped and the Canadian gave a very undignified squeak, but Feliciano simply guided the barrel to his lower back and held it there.

"See? Like that! Then, if I don't start walking, you have to _shove_ me! Brother does it all the time to people when he doesn't get his way, don't worry!"

"Feliciano..." Matt protested again, accidentally pressing against Feliciano's back as he spoke, and the Italian arched.

"Ouch! Matthew, that hurts~!"

The door to the security room was flung open, and a rather large and menacing weapon was pointed directly between Matt's eyes. Matt blinked, and sensibly dropped his gun.

"Well, hi!" Gilbert greeted as Ludwig, still training the gun on Matt with a very angry look on his face, reached out and pulled Feliciano away from the Canadian. "Long time, no see! How's fucking the Frenchman working out for you?"

"I - " Matt started, but Ludwig disengaged the safety.

"Get in." he ordered in an icy voice. Matt decided to comply, pushing past the brothers into the security room.

Ludwig handed the gun to his brother before leaning down to grab Feliciano's shoulders. "Are you all right?" he demanded. "He did not hurt you?"

"Ve~ of course not!" Feliciano beamed up at the German. "I'm fine, Germany!" Matt could of sworn a hint of red appeared on Ludwig's face - then he was prodded by Gilbert and told to "_hurry the fuck up_".

He started when he saw the limp form of Vash, unconscious and tied to a chair by the far wall. Lili was nowhere to be seen - Matt was more worried than relieved at this fact. He hoped the girl had been given the night off.

"Hey, sit down, relax a while." Gilbert shoved him into a chair and circled him, a wild look in his eye. "Nice suit. Tie brings out your eyes and all that jazz."

Desperately, Matt's eyes flicked from the Prussian to the gun in his hands. Gilbert was holding it loosely, lowered slightly so it pointed off somewhere by Matt's shoulder. Ludwig was still fussing over Feliciano, though they had moved into the room, leaving the pathway to the door open.

Well, what did he have to lose? As Gilbert came close Matt threw his elbow out and it connected with the older man's jaw. Gilbert went reeling back a bit, swearing, and Matt lunged out of his chair, knocking the gun from Gilbert's hands as he made a desperate bid for the door.

Then there were arms around his waist and he was slammed roughly down to the floor. "Oh no you don't, you little shit!" Gilbert was growling in his ear and Matt felt his right arm being wrenched behind his back. He cried out, thrashing under the Prussian, attempting to break free.

"Do that again and I'll break your scrawny neck." Gilbert warned, pressing down on him. The pain in his arm was spreading rapidly and Matt choked back another cry, his vision spotting dangerously.

"Oh, don't hurt him too badly!" came a worried exclamation from Feliciano. "He seems really nice!"

"Feliciano," came Ludwig's responding murmur. "Let _Bruder_ do his job..."

"Speaking of brothers, what the _hell_ are you doing with mine, Gil?" Alfred asked from the doorway, blonde brows furrowed, a pistol in his hand. The pressure on Matt's arm let up a little. The Canadian wanted to laugh with relief.

"The gang's all here, now!" Gilbert sounded pleased and, keeping Matt's arm in a firm grip, hauled the younger man up to his feet. "Left us in a bit of a lurch, didn't you Al? So not awesome."

"Yeah, well, my priorities did a little shufflin' around." Alfred answered easily, and grabbed Feliciano by the elbow. "Ease up on my brother, huh? I'm sure we can work this out?"

Gilbert didn't really seem like he wanted to let go. Ludwig's face was impassive, but when he spoke it was in a strained voice. "_Bruder_..."

"Just shut up for a minute, West." Gilbert snapped. His fingers were digging into Matt's wrist.

Matt met his brother's eyes, saw the unspoken question there, and he nodded.

Alfred slung an arm around Feliciano's neck, ignoring the Italian's startled squeal, and began pulling him out of the room. "All right, Luddy!" he crowed, gesturing with his gun. "Come an' get 'im!"

Ludwig made a noise that almost could have been a growl, posture stiff, before he lunged for the two. Alfred pulled his makeshift hostage from harm's way and disappeared out the door. Ludwig soon followed, purposeful and rather angry looking.

Gilbert must have been momentarily stunned, because Matt found it easy to slip from his hold and run to the window, having been left ajar by either Vash or the brothers. As Gilbert bellowed something at him that shouldn't be repeated in pleasant company, Matt clambered over the sill and slid himself out onto the roof that ran around the side of the villa, sheltering the patio from the weather. At first Matt thought Gilbert had not pursued him - then he heard the albino cackle.

"You're going to have to do more than that to get rid of _me_!" Gilbert declared, already straddling the windowsill. Matt grabbed hold of an overhanging branch of a beech tree and pulled himself up and over until he could safely shimmy down the trunk.

As soon as his feet touched the ground he was off and running into the dark, deserted gardens, mind buzzing. He had no weapon, and his only hope was to draw Gilbert away from the house and hope Alfred managed to take care of Ludwig in the meantime.

A bullet whizzed by his head - Matt was so startled that he lost his footing and fell sideways into some flower beds. Gilbert's gun had a silencer on it (where the _hell_ were they hiding these weapons?) but Matt had _felt_ the bullet go past him, so close it had displaced the air near his ear. Matt scrambled to regain his footing, pushing and pulling at some troublesome flower stalks that had gotten tangled with his tie, but stopped when the barrel of a gun was pressed to his forehead.

"Get up." Gilbert ordered, hair ruffled from pursuing, not sounding out of breath at all. When Matt stared up at him in shock, Gilbert smirked. "What, you comprehend as slow as you run? _Get up_. I'm gonna get _Ivan_ to take care of you now."

Oh dear God, not _Ivan, _of all people! Matt dutifully stood up and brushed himself off - Gilbert reached over with his free hand to undo Matt's tie, before ordering him to turn around. Matt watched the villa as Gilbert bound the Canadian's hands with his own tie. There were no guests out on the patio, and Matt could hear cheerful conversation coming from inside. No one had heard anything. No one knew he was out here.

Taking a hold of his new captive's right elbow, Gilbert urged him on, marching him out of the gardens and around the gravel driveway. There was a security camera perched at the top of the gate; it was turned off. The gates themselves were hanging open and Mikkel was nowhere to be seen. Gilbert urged him towards a dark coloured van that was parked in the trees just beyond the gate. As they got closer the driver's door opened and Ivan got out, smiling that same cheerful smile.

"Ah, you have found him!" he exclaimed. "Matthew, what a _surprise_ to see you here! You look so nice in a suit!"

Matt simply stared at him, too fearful to respond. Ivan took it in stride, placing a big hand on the Canadian's shoulder and guiding him to stand beside him. With his other hand, Ivan tugged at the knots Gilbert had made in the tie binding Matt's hands.

"There is no need for such things." Ivan declared, freeing Matt's wrists. "After all, we're all _friends_ here, yes?"

He was directing the question at Matt, and after some hesitation the smaller man nodded. Gilbert looked satisfied.

"Well, I'll just leave him with _you_, then." he declared, and sent Matt a smug look. "Catch you later, kid."

Ivan wrapped his hand around Matt's upper arm and tugged him towards the van. "Come. You will sit with me, yes? We will catch up. You will tell me all about that little flower boy. Your little knight in shining armor."

"Please let go, Ivan." Matt muttered, not daring to meet Ivan's eyes. Ivan was a silent a moment.

"Ah, Matthew, I am afraid that is not possible! You have been very bad, and bad people don't get to order others around!" Ivan opened the door almost lifted Matt into the van. Matt scrambled the rest of the way, catching his sleeve on the gear shift and collapsing in the passenger seat. He heard a great hum behind them and Ivan, getting in after him and closing and locking the doors, put a hand on his face, directing him to look behind them.

The back of the van was covered in equipment - not only ammunition, but also several laptops and what looked like part of a server. Kiku, a headphone nestled in his ear, gave a quick duck of his head in greeting.

"Isn't this wonderful?" Ivan asked cheerfully, and Matt yelped as he was pulled roughly into the big man's lap. "All our planning has gone into this one night. It is a pity, Matthew, that you do not seem to appreciate it." Ivan's large hands closed damningly around Matt's wrists and held them by his sides. Matt attempted to wrench them free but it was comedic, even, the disparity between their strength levels. Ivan was like a rock, steady and unmoving.

"Please, let me go, Ivan." Matt begged, trying once more to twist away. The big man merely smiled his child's smile and pressed down on the Canadian's arms.

"Oh, no." he saw sweetly. "Matthew does not seem to understand, yes? I will show Matthew why it is foolish to interrupt our job, do not worry."

Panting under the exertion of trying to break from Ivan's iron grip, Matt gazed with dread into the Russian's eyes. He _had_ to find his brother. He _had_ to help Francis. Steeling himself and offering up a silent apology to both Francis and Ivan, Matt craned his neck up and kissed Ivan's mouth firmly.

It was a dirty trick, but it _worked_ - Ivan stilled, momentarily taken aback. Then he kissed back, cold mouth and tongue and icy teeth. His violet eyes remained open, though, trained on Matt, and his hands still curled firmly around the Canadian's wrists.

_Well, shit_. This "distraction" wasn't going the way it was supposed to - Ivan was supposed to let go, or close his eyes, or do _something_ that would allow Matt to catch him off guard and escape. What a cliched last resort - sometimes Matt wondered if he was turning into his brother.

Instead, Matt let his eyes flutter closed and tilted his head up. After a minute Ivan slowly let go of his wrists and threaded his fingers in Matt's hair. When Matt opened his eyes back up, Ivan had closed his.

_Sorry, Ivan_, Matt thought with regret. _I had to do something drastic_. Still arranged on Ivan's lap, Matt looped one arm loosely around Ivan's neck. With his free hand he pushed the "unlock" button.

At the sound of the click Ivan began to draw back, but by this time Matt had wrapped his hand around the car's door handle and threw himself sideways, pushing the door open and falling heavily to the ground.

Ivan barked something nasty sounding in Russian, and Matt took off without even pausing to get to his feet, scrabbling on all fours until he could right himself, tearing towards the gates without a backwards glance. When he _did _look back, Ivan's hulking form was advancing steadily towards him and he was pulling something distinctly _gun-shaped_ from the recesses of his thick coat.

Well, fuck.

* * *

Did these hallways go on forever? That was Alfred's thought as he dragged Feliciano down one particularly dark and foreboding one, into the recesses of Francis's second floor. Ludwig was following at a steady pace, the look on his face near murderous by now. Feliciano was making strange wheezing and whining noises by Alfred's ear, and it was getting fucking annoying. Alfred stopped moving and Ludwig followed suit.

"Let him go." Ludwig's voice was calm. "He's not a part of this, let him go."

"Yeah? He looked pretty _involved_," Alfred shot back, but released his grip on the Italian all the same. Feliciano lunged for Ludwig, who opened his arms in order to catch the panicked Italian. Feliciano said something in hurried Italian. Ludwig merely stared at Alfred, who was still holding his gun.

Finally, Alfred smirked. "So I'm guessing there were some changes made to the original plan, then?"

"You could say that." Ludwig replied, then nodded to someone unseen by Alfred. Before the American could turn, gun at the ready, a smooth, clipped voice said behind him, "Thank you Ludwig, I can take it from here."

Ludwig and Feliciano were moving off down the hallway but Alfred no longer cared about them - instead he pivoted on his heel to stare behind him.

"Hello Alfred." Arthur said icily, and knocked the gun from the blonde's hand before he even had the chance to react. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

* * *

_END CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE_

* * *

**Author's Note:** Okay, I'll have you know that I've watched television shows/gone to movies/read books where crazier stuff happens and the people around don't even realize it's going on (like seriously, people are shooting at each other/moving heavy things/casting magic/having loud sex, and the people in the next room are all like, "So what's the weather like today Mac?"). So...I do not consider this a far fetched idea. Just saying.

Oh and hey, over 100, 000 words? Does it feel like that much already? Weird!


	24. Chapter 24

**Author's Note: **Haha, sorry, I had to step up the research for my history paper. BUT here is the next chapter as an apology!

* * *

Matt had thought there was nothing more terrifying than Ivan when he was mildly upset. But being pursued through the gardens by a Russian with a revolver was infinitely more unsettling.

"Come out, come out~!" Ivan called, stomping carelessly through the hedges. Branches crackled under his weight. Matt cast a nervous glance over at the house - no one was outside yet, which was a relief.

"I-Ivan!" he tossed over his shoulder, retreating into the darkness of the trees. "Maybe w-we can work something out, eh? M-make a deal?"

"A deal?" Ivan repeated in his childishly happy voice. "Yes, now you are thinking smartly Matthew! Here is deal - you come with me, and I do not shoot your pretty Frenchman. Yes?"

A cold shiver ran through Matt's body. "You...you wouldn't." he challenged. "Th-that's not part of the plan."

Ivan paused to consider this. "Yes," he admitted. "But, plans change. You know that."

Terror clenched at Matt's heart. "P-please don't." he begged. "Please, he didn't have any part in this, it was all my idea, to try and stop you."

Ivan hummed. "No, I do not believe that." he said simply. "Silly Matthew, you remember what I told you? And now look at the mess you have gotten yourself into! Never leave yourself open to _leverage_. Now just thinking of a bullet in your Frenchman's skull, you are ready to do what I say, yes?"

It was true, and all Matt could do was scowl into the darkness, watching the Russian's silhouette in case he tried anything.

"Do not worry," Ivan sang. "I would like very much to kiss you again, and if you want I'll let you think of him while I do so."

"You - " Matt started angrily, but someone else interrupted, "I d'n't th'nk so."

Both Matt and Ivan paused in surprise. Neither of them had noticed the tall Swedish man until he had spoken.

"Berwald." Matt exhaled shakily. Berwald eyed him.

"G't g'ng." he mumbled. "I'll t'ke c're o' h'm."

"Matthew will not be going anywhere, friend." Ivan said cheerfully, stepping closer, gun trained at Berwald's head.

Fear spiked in Matt's gut and he pushed himself in front of Berwald.

"Berwald, get out of here!" he urged. "I don't want you to get hurt!" the tall man placed a hand on Matt's head and gently steered him out of the way.

"No." he answered solemnly. "W'nt t' h'lp y', Matthew." he fixed his stern gaze on Ivan and said, "T'no, _now_."

Tino sprang lithely from the foliage, wrapping an arm around Ivan's neck and knocking the gun from his hand. The Russian didn't look startled by this sudden attack - on the contrary, he gave a sort of half-crazed laugh and turned, trying to wrestle Tino off his back. The Finnish man held fast.

A hand was between Matt's shoulder blades and he was being pushed towards the house.

"Go." Berwald ordered. "W'll t'ke care of 't."

"Wait, I - "

"_Go_." the Swede repeated, and his tone left little room for argument.

With a hurried, grateful look, Matt slipped away towards the patio.

Suddenly his vision was filled with thick smoke. "_Fire_!" someone yelled from within the house, and Matt surged forward, panicking.

_Francis!_

* * *

"Isn't this a surprise." Arthur murmured as they trained their guns on each other. The quiet on the second floor was stifling. "Where is your brother, Alfred?"

"Around." Alfred answered ambiguously with a grin. "You look well! Showed your face at the party, huh?"

"Yes, because _that was the plan_." Arthur shot back, though he admitted, "Though we had to make a few...._adjustments_."

"I can imagine." Alfred replied flippantly.

"You won't stop it from happening." Arthur warned him, reaching forward so his gun was centimeters from Alfred's body. "All I want to see is the job I asked for being completed. I could care less if you tried to interfere."

Alfred shrugged. "I think I'm doing a pretty good job so far." he pointed out. Arthur scowled and prodded him with his gun.

"You're running around like a _fool_!" the Brit snapped. "Someone should take care of you before you _hurt_ yourself!"

"So why don't _you_ take care of me, Artie?" Alfred purred, taking great pleasure when the older man's face flushed.

"Don't turn this into something lewd!" Arthur exclaimed, almost taking a step backwards, instead making what he hoped was a threatening motion with his gun. "I - I swear Alfred, _stop moving_!"

Alfred grinned. "What, are you going to _shoot_ me now?" he teased. Arthur growled.

"That's the whole bloody point, you idiot!"

"Then shoot me." Alfred said with sudden solemnity, spreading his arms to the side and giving Arthur a clear shot.

"You - " Arthur spluttered. Alfred continued staring at him with those beautiful, clear blue eyes.

"...you _know_ I can't." Arthur finally spat out. "That's not fair."

"I know." Alfred agreed, his usual grin now something soft and Arthur, in a rage, pushed the American against the wall and kissed him, hard.

His previous plan for showing the blonde just how _over him_ he was went out the window.

It didn't help his cause that the same blonde was currently nibbling on Arthur's bottom lip _just the way_ the Brit liked it.

"A-ah..." Arthur pushed against Alfred, greedily trying to fill the spaces between them. Alfred let out a curious groan and leaned down, tongue flicking across the Brit's lips, coaxing him to respond. Arthur could almost pretend that it was just like before, before he threw a book at Alfred's face and told him to get out of his life, until someone shouted from downstairs, "_Fire_!"

Alfred froze against him and tried to pull away - Arthur kept an arm looped around his neck to hold him there.

"I told you," Arthur mumbled against the American's lips, "the show must go on, regardless of how much we had to change the plan."

Alfred was angry now, Arthur could tell by the way the taller man dug his thumbs into the Brit's hips and tried to push him away.

"The whole point of my plan was that no one would get hurt!" Alfred exclaimed. "That's unheroic, you can't do that!"

"You aren't a _hero_." Arthur pointed out, "you're a _criminal_."

_**My** criminal_, he thought selfishly as he watched the boy's face fall. It was almost adorable, he realized, how well meaning Alfred tried to be even in these situations.

"Come back to me." Arthur (almost) commanded, stroking a hand up and down Alfred's neck. The American gave a little grimace. "All will be forgiven. I'll cut you back into the heist. I'll make sure your brother gets out of this unharmed."

Alfred's eyes slid closed. His grimace looked more like a smile now. "You hit me with a book." he pointed out in a shy, sweet little voice that made Arthur's knees go weak.

"I'm sorry, luv." he apologized, reaching to cup the bruised cheek. Alfred caught his wrist and his eyes opened again. The blue was alight with determination.

"You've crossed the line, Arthur," he told him, reversing their positions, forcing the Brit against the wall. "You've been holding this grudge for way too long. What will this solve? If you keep acting like this, at the end of the day you'll still be alone."

Arthur's mouth hung open and he struggled for words. Alfred was still staring down at him, a sad little frown on his face.

"I used to look up to you." the American sighed. "You know? I had a crush on you for ages. _You used to be so big_."

"A-Alfred." Arthur stammered, but the blonde was already stepping backwards, shaking his head.

"I made my brother a promise." Alfred told him. "And it would be really unheroic to break that promise."

If Arthur let his eyes blur he could see the smoke from downstairs wafting in soft tendrils around Alfred's head, framing him in a sort of halo.

Alfred's eyes held so much sorrow for so young a man. "Bye, Art."

* * *

The parlor was filled with smoke and nearly deserted by the time Matt stumbled in, coughing. Roderich was standing, quite calmly, by the entrance, fixing his cuffs.

"Ah, you're here." he said. "Come, follow me."

Matt gaped at him. "R-Roderich, are you crazy?" he asked. "There's a _fire_, we gotta get out of here, wh-where's Mr. Bonnefoy?"

"He and the other guests evacuated." Roderich replied. "Mr. Bonnefoy is making sure they're getting home all right. And it's not a _fire_, Matthew, it's a smoke bomb. One of our friends was kind enough to leave us a present. This is going to take _ages_ to get out of the drapes."

"What - but - "

Roderich rolled his eyes at Matt's gawking, and impatiently seized the boy by the cuff.

"Come." he repeated, adding with disdain, "Your suit is _filthy_, what have you been doing, crawling around in the gardens?"

"Something like that." Matt replied sarcastically as Roderich tried to simultaneously lead him and clean off his suit. Roderich clicked his tongue disapprovingly, giving off such an "Old Maid" impression that Matt had to try hard not to laugh.

"This is a perfectly good suit!" he complained. "Inexpensive too, I swear..."

"Mr. Edelstein, where are we going?" Matt interrupted softly as they walked downstairs and through the staff hallways.

"Here." Roderich answered, opening the door to the kitchen.

Matt jumped backwards as Elizaveta, holding a frying pan over her head, turned to give him a sweet smile. "Ah, hello, Matthew!" she chirruped. "Are you all right, dear?"

"F-fine, thank you!" Matt squeaked. "Eliza, what are you - "

"Oh!" Elizaveta turned back to Gilbert, who was roped to one of the kitchen chairs, a rather nasty bump on his head and swearing up a storm. "_This man_ thought he would just set off a smoke bomb in the middle of Mr. Bonnefoy's party. I was just setting him straight."

Gilbert spat out some blood. "_Jesus fucking Christ, Liz_!" he bellowed. Elizaveta hefted her frying pan over her shoulder menacingly.

Roderich looked very used to the sight of his wife threatening someone with a cooking utensil. "We just thought you should know," he said. "That we've got this one under control. So you and your brother can continue with the plan."

"Fuck this shit!" Gilbert swore, trying to kick Roderich in the ass. The brunette side stepped him with an irritated frown.

"Gilbert." he said with exasperation. "For once in your life could you _please_ shut up?"

"And for once in your life could you _please_ go fuck yourself, four eyes?" Gilbert shot back, and then fixed his crimson glare on Matt, "And once I get outta here, kid, you're gonna wish you _never_ came to France!"

"Oh no, don't worry," Matt snapped back. "I've been regretting that for a _long_ time."

"You have?" Elizaveta asked with horror. "Matthew, don't say that!"

"Why not?" Matt asked sulkily, though he shied away when Elizaveta approached him, frying pan in hand. "It's not like I've done anything helpful for anyone while I'm here."

The frying pan came down softly on his head. Elizaveta was glaring at him with all the force an attractive brunette cook can muster. "Matthew Williams if you say that one more time I'll fire you." she declared. "Now get out of here. Do what you need to do."

"How come I get a concussion while _he_ gets a love tap??" Gilbert yowled indignantly from the chair as Matt left the kitchen.

"Because _he_ is not an annoying, egotistical, husband-stealing albino!" came the reply as Elizaveta shut the kitchen door.

"Honey, if anything, _you_ stole him from _me_!" Gilbert cackled. Roderich hit him over the head with an open palm.

"Quiet." he told the Prussian. Gilbert rolled his eyes.

"Hitting me won't make it go away." he told the brunette. "It was five years of my life I wasted on _you_, after all."

"And that was the kind of attitude that stopped it from being _six_." Roderich shot back. Fixing his glasses, he gave his wife an apologetic look. "Would you mind taking care of him? I'll go find Berwald or Sadiq or someone to take over."

Elizaveta smiled. "With pleasure."

"Hey!" Gilbert yelled as Roderich made to leave the kitchen. "You can't just _leave_ me with her! _Roderich_!"

"Now, now, Gil." Elizaveta cooed. "We haven't seen each other in so long, haven't we? And you never come to visit _me _anymore. So we should catch up."

Gilbert glowered at the tiles of the kitchen floor.

"Fuck my life." he muttered.

* * *

Matt wasn't _trying_ to find Ludwig again - in fact, the tall blonde German was the _last_ person he would ever want to run into in a smoky hallway while unarmed. But when Matt peeked around the second floor stairwell and saw Ludwig crouched in front of the treasure room's door, a stethoscope pressed against its surface, well...

Matt _was_ going to hide, possibly find Alfred, when a happy voice rang out, "Matthew! Hello again!"

Feliciano was behind him, arms behind his back. The absence of a gun did not make the Canadian feel any better.

"Have you come to help us?" he asked cheerfully. "Ludwig, Ludwig! I think Matthew wants to help us with security!"

Ludwig looked up from his job, blue eyes stern. "Good." he said - Matt shivered as the German beckoned him over. "We were unable to figure out how to disarm the security system."

"I - I don't know either." Matt said as he was playfully prodded forward by Feliciano. Ludwig simply raised his eyebrows and gestured for Feliciano to lead Matt into the security room.

Vash was still in there, though he had regained consciousness. When he saw Matt, his eyes narrowed. "You." he snarled. "I should've figured _you'd_ be the one - !"

"Okay, Matthew, so you turn off the security, okay?" Feliciano chirped. "And I'll be right here if you need anything!"

Matt could feel Vash's glare as he sat down at the bank of computers and looked helplessly from left to right. He had talked to Lili a little bit about this before, and he'd seen Vash at work, but it all still looked very confusing. Feliciano was looking expectantly at him, though, so Matt started to play with the computer to make it look like he was doing something. He flipped quickly through the different security cameras - he couldn't see Berwald, Tino, or Ivan anywhere, which made something clench in his gut; and out front most of the guests had gone home. Matt caught the fair head of Francis talking to a few stragglers.

He looked to the left - Feliciano was leaning against the door, studying the security room with intense interest, humming something to himself.

There was a Sharpie sitting by one of the keyboards, possibly used for labeling security disks, and Matt quickly grabbed it and scribbled something on his hand. He turned his body so his back was facing Feliciano. Vash was glaring at him, though his look softened into one of bewilderment when Matt held up his palm for him to see.

_Lights? _he had written.

Vash gave a shallow nod. "Second switch from the top." he said quietly.

"Hm?" Feliciano asked.

"Oh." Matt turned back to him. "I asked Vash to tell me how to access the alarm for the room."

"Oh!" Feliciano beamed at the Swiss man. "Thank you so much!"

Vash sneered at the Italian as Matt located the switch (labeled _Master, all)_.

The room was plunged into darkness. Feliciano let out a shriek. "What happened?" he asked frantically. Matt was already up and trying to feel around the room as Ludwig pounded on the door.

"Feliciano!" the German barked. "Open the door!"

"I - I can't find the door, hold on!" Feliciano cried out, and there was a crash as the little brunette collided with something. "Ouch!" was his response.

By this time Matt had felt his way to Vash, and was tugging uselessly at the knots that held him to the chair.

"There's a pistol in one of the desk drawers." Vash grunted in his ear. "Don't bother trying to untie me, just focus on getting _rid_ of them!"

Matt felt his way over to the desk as Feliciano tried to struggle to his feet, making pitiful noises as he went.

Finally, one of the drawers he opened revealed the cool, metallic touch of a pistol and Matt grabbed it, before making his way to the door. Ignoring Feliciano, Matt opened the door and pressed the pistol forward to find Ludwig. It hit the tall man somewhere around his clavicle.

"Move." Matt ordered. Ludwig didn't say anything.

"I said _move_!" the Canadian repeated. "I am _sick_ of pointing guns at people and having guns pointed at me and all I want to do is make this stop! So I don't have time for you to be all macho. If you're worried about Feliciano, he's crawling on the floor somewhere."

"I'm here~" came the Italian's weak reply.

"But just wait until I've untied Vash and we've gotten out of here, and I'll put the lights back on. But until then you're going to have to just _stop_ for a minute."

Some more silence. Then:

"All right." Ludwig agreed solemnly. "All right Matthew. Do what you need to do."

The German's voice held a little bit of grudging admiration, and Matt led Ludwig into the security room before tending to Vash. Once the Swiss man was free he immediately made his way over to the board and flipped the lights again.

The lights fizzed on. Feliciano covered his eyes. Ludwig stared at them expectantly.

"Good luck trying to break into _that_ room." Vash snorted, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. "And you'd better be thankful I don't feel like shooting your balls off. Get out."

Ludwig paused, eyes locked on Matt's. Matt swallowed. "You heard the man." he urged. "Get out."

Ludwig nodded, helped Feliciano off the floor from where he'd been tangled in a length of extension cord, and left the security room.

As soon as he was gone Vash took the pistol from Matt's hand. "Thank you." the shorter blonde said grudgingly. "You put on a good show."

Matt wondered if anyone had noticed his knees knocking.

"Wh-where's Lili?" he asked as Vash moved to the computers and brought up a higher definition picture of the front of the house security camera.

"She had a party to go to, so I let her have the night off." Vash said, adding, "I didn't want to scare her by letting her know what was going on."

"Wait, you _knew_?" Matt spluttered. "Did - did Francis tell you - "

"Mr. Bonnefoy only told me that there was going to be something going on tonight and that we were to be on our guard." Vash interrupted. "He didn't mention anything else. But, you know," he fixed Matt with a piercing stare, "Tino and Elizaveta are very good at finding out information."

Matt flushed. "Is that why you thought I'd betrayed you, when I came in with Feliciano earlier?"

"Yes." Vash answered bluntly. "But I was mistaken, in the end. Mr. Bonnefoy said you were willing to help him, and I can only trust his judgement."

Matt stood there awkwardly. He was pretty sure he shouldn't say "thank you".

On the computer screen, all the guests had vanished from the gravel driveway in front of the house. Francis was standing in front of the security camera, waving up at it and making some vague hand gestures.

"You should go down and see him." Vash suggested, pointing at the monitor.

"Ah! Right!" Matt started and almost stumbled in his haste for the door. Vash rolled his eyes.

"W-will you be all right here?" Matt asked, pausing on the threshold.

Vash got up and pulled another drawer open, revealing several cartridges. "I'm covered." he dead panned. "Fool me twice, shame on me."

"O-okay." Matt laughed weakly, and turned on his heel, hoping that Arthur's team didn't come after Vash again. He wouldn't wish the Swiss on his worst enemy.

* * *

Kiku could barely hear the hissing of air over the static in his ear, but he heard it nonetheless.

Ivan had not returned to the van with Matthew, and the Japanese man was on edge. Kiku waited a few seconds for any further noises - and, when everything stayed quiet, he slid his katana from under the van's rug, and opened up the back of the vehicle.

There was no one in sight. He could just make out the lights of the Bonnefoy villa amongst the trees he was parked in. No one was around the van, but when Kiku crept around the left side of the van he saw that the front tire had been slashed.

Kiku paled. If there was one thing he'd been taught through all his years of pulling jobs like this, it was that no successful heist could be completed without transportation, and right now their transportation was shot.

He checked the back, but because they'd cleared everything out for his technology, there was no spare tire. With a muttered curse, Kiku pressed the device in his ear and hissed, "Ivan? Ivan, are you there?"

He was met with white noise. Sighing, Kiku glanced once more towards the villa. When he was there the other day he had noticed a small shed at the back of the gardens. It was a long shot, but perhaps the Bonnefoy staff kept a spare tire in there? If not, Kiku was sure there was a garage somewhere, maybe around the back.

Kiku traded his katana for a small, sleek little revolver that Yao had commissioned for him when he lived in Beijing. Kiku gripped it with a sense of nostalgia, and set off into the gardens.

The fairy lights were flickering gently, casting the garden in a soft glow. Kiku couldn't hear or see anyone - he supposed Gilbert's smoke bomb had been effective (he tried calling Gilbert, too; all he got was scuffling and Gilbert yelling, "_You crazy bitch, you wait until I get outta here - !_")

There was a rustling in the trees above him - Kiku paused, and bent his knees in anticipation.

"Whoever you are, I would advise you to leave." he said, gazing up into the foliage. "I warn you, I _am_ armed - "

A Persian cat dropped lightly from the lower branches, and padded towards him. Kiku jumped and then relaxed, allowing himself to chuckle.

"_Neko-cha_n." he smiled softly, bending at the waist to tickle the cat's chin. "_Daijoubu desuka_...?"

"Got 'im!" someone yelled triumphantly, and Kiku felt something wrap around his torso. He exclaimed in surprise as Sadiq continued to lasso him with the garden hose. Heracles dropped down from the tree and wrestled his gun from him.

"Let me go!" Kiku demanded, wriggling as Sadiq tied a knot in the hose.

"Not a chance." Sadiq shot back, sifting a hand in the Japanese man's hair. "You got some nerve, tryin' to steal from our boss. And here I thought you were so cute, too."

"Let go." Kiku repeated, uncertainly now as the two gardeners surrounded him. Heracles look unamused. Sadiq grinned, white teeth almost Satanic in the darkness.

"I don't think so," he murmured, and in one movement hefted the Japanese man over his shoulder.

Kiku gaped and thrashed. "Stop! I order you to stop!" he flushed bright red as Sadiq was forced to put a hand on the small of his back to steady him - the Turk's big, calloused hand drifted worryingly lower, brushing the seat of Kiku's pants briefly, teasingly.

"Where should we put 'im?" Sadiq asked, ignoring the way Heracles was glaring at his hand.

"Shed." was Heracles's answer, and Kiku was jostled as the Turk started across the lawn. Heracles followed, keys jingling.

The inside of the shed was dark, but Sadiq was at least careful not to throw Kiku down on any sharp equipment - he deposited the slighter man onto a bag of peat, and grinned at him.

"Now, you just sit tight for a bit," Sadiq told him. Heracles was still holding Kiku's gun and the Japanese man followed it with his eyes.

"Please, leave my gun with me." Kiku asked. Sadiq laughed.

"What, you think we're stupid?" he demanded. "We ain't leavin' this with you!"

"Please." Kiku repeated adamantly. "That - someone I care about very much gave me that. It's special."

"Well la-dee-dah - " Sadiq started sarcastically, but Heracles said softly, "We'll leave it in your van."

Kiku blinked. How did they - ? "My van?" he asked.

Heracles nodded. "Mikkel should be done slashing all the tires by now!" Sadiq told him, before wriggling his fingers in a mocking goodbye.

"See you later, kid."

The door to the shed slammed closed, and Kiku heard the lock on the outside clicking. Eyes straining to get used to the darkness, he took a quick look around.

Huh. Well, _there_ was the spare tire...

* * *

"And what are you so angry about?" Sadiq asked a sulking Heracles as the two of them walked back to the house.

Heracles shot him an acidic glare. "I can't believe you're such a pervert that you'd grope and flirt with a guy who's trying to cause trouble!" he accused with a growl. Sadiq snorted at the brunette's immaturity, but then a sly look appeared in his eyes.

"Ah~, brat, are you jealous?"

"Oh, please." Heracles scoffed, tilting his head away with a sniff. "Like I would be jealous of having your paws all over - _HEY_!"

Sadiq snickered, kneading his fingers into the flesh of the Greek's backside. "You know I wouldn't want you to feel left out." he murmured, stepping closer to his counterpart.

Heracles's eyes slid half-closed. "Get...get off me." he grunted, swatting Sadiq's hand away.

Sadiq relented in favor of running a quick hand through Heracles's hair. "There." he proclaimed. "Now you're even with him."

"Idiot." Heracles chastised, though his cheeks were flushed. "That doesn't make any sense at all."

Sadiq simply smirked. The Greek was so easy to rile up, it was no wonder he was usually the first to cave.

"I know, brat."

* * *

_END CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR_

* * *

**Author's Note: **Somewhere along the way I must of thought I was writing a horror novel or something because I stopped halfway through and said, "Wait, I don't WANT Kiku to go outside and explore the strange sounds! Everyone knows that's how you get killed by a serial killer!" then I said, "Oh right, you're an idiot, he's just going to get pwned by a garden hose."

On an unrelated note, spell check reared its ugly head again as Berwald came back into the story D:

ALSO ALSO - I know polls are annoying as all get out, but I have one up on my profile regarding On the Bound, so if you wouldn't mind stopping to take a look, I'd be real happy! Thank you guys!


	25. Chapter 25

**Author's Note:** Ahaha, this chapter moves so fast it'll give you whiplash!!!

* * *

Francis was reclining against the front steps, smoking, as Matt hurried outside.

"F - Mr. Bonnefoy, are you all right?" he asked worriedly. Francis stood up, stubbing out his cigarette and lightly dusting off his pants.

"I'm fine." he assured the boy. "_You_ look a bit of a mess though...Mathieu, come here, I need to fix something."

Matt heaved a self-pitying sigh and shuffled closer to Francis could fuss with his suit.

"Man, I haven't seen a smoke bomb that good since high school!" Alfred jogged up, looking - as Matt jealously noted - as impeccable as he did at the beginning of the evening.

He gave Matt an affectionate noogie and asked, "So where are we at?"

"Elizaveta's taken care of Gilbert." Matt told him. Alfred nodded.

"Sadiq told me they locked Kiku in the shed." the American added onto the count. "Plus Ivan's still preoccupied with that Batman and Robin duo you have there." he told Francis.

At the Frenchman's odd look, Matt clarified, "He means Berwald and Tino."

"Have we got everyone?" Francis asked.

"Vash is taking care of security, but Ludwig and Feliciano are still out there."

"Ooh." Alfred looked around suspiciously for a minute as if expecting the German to pop out of the bushes. "Gotcha. I'll go look. You'll be all right here?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine Al." Matt assured him.

After Alfred disappeared into the house with a cheery wave, Francis asked, "So what happened after you left the party, Mathieu?"

Matt gave him the short explanation of the evening's events, starting with Feliciano's part in the whole scheme and ending with, "Basically this is the worst heist I've ever seen."

"When one watches spectacular heist movies, real life often disappoints." Francis interjected, fingers curled around Matt's lapels. Then he frowned. "_Mon cher_," he said warningly. "Where is your tie?"

Matt offered him a sheepish grin. "I...lost it?"

Francis didn't look convinced. Matt tried a simpering lower lip and the Frenchman finally laughed.

"You are too funny." he chuckled, and leaned down to kiss Matt's cheek. Matt squirmed from the feeling of the stubble on his face, and Francis's grip tightened on his lapels. They stayed like that for a moment, and Matt's heart started pounding.

_Just turn your head_, he willed himself. _What have you got left to lose_?? Matt tilted his face so he could feel Francis's nose press against his cheek. Wordlessly, Francis slid a hand past Matt's lapel, ghosting over his side, and Matt let his eyes flutter closed and sought out the Frenchman's lips. Francis let him, easily, responding almost immediately, pressing back against him with such passion Matt felt like all the breath had been sucked out of him. He felt for something to hold himself up and settled for leaning in, leaning _up_, feeling the connection between them burn _everything_ - his face, his mouth, his heart.

They parted, messily, lips sliding over lips in an attempt to reconnect the jigsaw. Matt gave a little gasp before they matched up again. Francis's eyes were closed now, and he grasped Matt's neck, rubbing his thumb into the Canadian's jaw as they kissed.

"Francis," Matt hissed when they parted again. "Francis..."

"Shush." Francis murmured, catching Matt's bottom lip gently between his teeth. Matt satisfied himself for reaching for whatever he could get of Francis - his fingers went for that beautiful blonde hair, traveled downwards across his shoulders.

Footsteps echoed in the Canadian's ears and he pulled back, short of breath.

"A-Alfred, you're back..." he began, and instead found himself looking into the cold green eyes of Arthur Kirkland.

Matt let out an exclamation. Arthur looked past him, to Francis. "You." he sniffed.

"Me." Francis confirmed with raised eyebrows, thumb still pressed a little possessively against Matt's jaw. "I _do_ live here, you know."

Arthur answered by taking the safety off his gun. Matt jumped as Francis grabbed him by the upper arm and pulled the Canadian behind him.

"Ah, _mon Anglais_, just what are you planning to do with that?" Francis laughed. "You cannot even hire a good team to pull a job on my house! You know, Kirkland, the previous time I thought it was just a fluke. But you know what they say the _second_ time..."

"Shut up." Arthur snapped. "This time was different."

"Oh, _oui_, I bet." Francis drawled. Matt looked between the two of them, confused.

"Wh-what's going on?" he asked. Francis glanced at him with a regretful look.

"Why don't you tell him, Francis?" Arthur sneered. "About how _unsurprised_ you were to learn that I was behind this? One would think this had happened before..."

"What's going on?" Matt repeated.

"And let's not forget the time you got _involved_ with that boy you hired to steal my prized statue and he accidentally knocked over a bookshelf and nearly got himself arrested." Arthur piped up with a triumphant smirk.

"And I suppose you would like me to forget that _God awful_ Belgian girl who tried to smuggle her lock-picking kit into my art show in the most..._unconventional_ of places?" Francis shot back, the grip on Matt's arm tightening. "_Mon Dieu_, where do you _find_ these people?"

Arthur flushed a hot red. "She had _very good credentials_!" he huffed.

The pieces were starting to fall into place. Matt gaped. "You - you guys have _done_ this before?" he asked.

"So what is so _different_ this time, pray tell?" Francis asked, completely ignoring Matt's question. Arthur's grip tightened around his gun.

"You know _very well what_!" he snapped. "This - a few years ago this was just a _game_ for me, something I did to keep myself on my toes. But this time I don't want it to end the same. I don't want to go back and feel like I've accomplished nothing, like I've built myself up for months only to achieve _nothing_. This time you've taken more from me than a trinket I could _easily_ buy back. You've taken from me the only person I've cared about in years."

Francis and Matt stared, slack-jawed, at him. "F-Francis didn't take my brother away from you." Matt said quietly, from over Francis's shoulder. "Alfred left of his own decision, because of something between you and him. Please put the gun down."

"If I had never gone through with this game, I would have never met Alfred." Arthur said stonily, gun never wavering. "But because I went through with it, I lost him."

"So what have we come to, _mon ami_?" Francis asked flatly. "You are pointing a gun at me, because you blame me for your little American's flight? Did you ever stop to consider that maybe it is because - "

"Francis!" Matt exclaimed, a warning in his tone, before saying, "Arthur, my brother...Al cares for you a lot. This isn't necessary..."

Arthur didn't say anything, just raised the gun, as if to shoot - before he even knew what he was doing, Matt pushed past Francis, fearful, and grabbed Arthur's arm. The man, startled by Matt's sudden approach, seized up and his hand spasmed. Matt felt burning heat sear through his shoulder before he registered the sound of the actual shot, and he stumbled backwards.

Arthur's face was colourless, and he opened and closed his mouth several times, dropping the gun. "I didn't - " he began, but Matt's vision was already full of Francis, Francis slinging an arm around his waist, pulling him down to the ground.

"Sit down," the Frenchman was telling him, words rushed as if in a panic (but when did _Francis_ ever panic? _Matt_ was the one who always panicked!). "Sit down, I'll take a look at your shoulder, just keep your eyes open, let me see those beautiful eyes. That's right, it'll be okay, _Mathieu are you listening to me_?"

Everything was getting very blurry and deliciously dark around the edges. "I gotta...I gotta lie down." Matt slurred, reclining on his elbows as a rush of headiness overtook him. Arthur kneeled, but Matt couldn't see him anymore because Francis filled his vision.

"Mathieu." Francis's expression was ghastly, and Matt put a hand on his face in comfort. "Mathieu, come on, sit up, stay with me."

"Mmm, no, that's all right." the Canadian heard himself sigh. "I'm just gonna...take a nap while you guys argue about....uh, whatever you were arguing about."

"_Mathieu_!"

But Matt was already losing consciousness. The last thing he was aware of, was Francis's face, so close to his own, looking so distraught you'd think Matt was dying.

Which he wasn't, Matt reasoned, he was just very, very, very tired...

* * *

When Matt woke up, it took him a minute to realize where he was. His shoulder throbbed and his mouth felt cottony, like it did after a long sleep. He was in Francis's bedroom, curled up under the mounds of covers on the Frenchman's bed. The drapes were drawn but there was a little light behind it. Francis was sprawled on a chair beside the bed, dozing. His face looked tired and a little haggard, and he was still in his suit from the party, jacket draped over the back of the chair, dress shirt wrinkled with the sleeves rolled up. It was the sloppiest Matt had ever seen Francis look, and even then he still retained that air of elegance. Matt sat up and tried to stretch out his neck. He wasn't wearing his shirt, he noticed, which was strange; and his shoulder was bandaged up pretty securely, even though the Canadian remembered the bullet only grazing him. Stretching out his unbandaged arm, Matt lightly shook Francis's shoulder.

"Wake up." he whispered as the older man stirred. "Francis..."

The Frenchman awoke with a start; as soon as he realized Matt was awake he seized the younger man's hand tightly between his own and bent to kiss the knuckles.

"You silly boy!" he said fiercely, glowering at Matt. "What were you _thinking_?"

"He had a gun!" Matt protested, flushing as Francis laid another kiss, this time on his thumb.

"He wasn't going to shoot me." Francis told him sourly, as if Matt should _know_ that a man wielding a gun and shouting wasn't _actually_ going to use it. "Kirkland is all bark and no bite. At most he would have waved the gun around and ranted a bit then gone out to drink away his sorrows. We are not friends, Kirkland and I, but neither of us want to see a bullet in the other's chest."

"Speaking of," Matt said, gently pulling his hand from Francis's. "Mind explaining what exactly is going on?"

Francis sighed, and scooted his chair closer to the bed. "I guess I _do_ owe you an explanation," he agreed. "All right. You remember how I told you that Kirkland and I had a rivalry while we were at school together?" when Matt nodded, Francis continued," We moved in the same circles after we finished schooling and we never grew to like each other. We had a - I guess you could call it a rivalry. A competition, even, about who had the money, the businesses, the homes across Europe...

"I think it was Arthur who first started the idea. For the _game_, I mean. I was teasing him about a rare book I had recently purchased at an auction, and he had said that..." Francis paused to think, a half-fond smile lighting his face. "What did he say? Something along the lines of, "you're so vapid when you're gloating that I could probably take the bloody book right from under your nose!". I said I bet he couldn't and...it started. Every few years one of us would acquire something for our collection...something expensive, rare, ancient, you know? We'd hold a party to show it off. Like typical rich people, I'm sure. The other would try to take this item before the day of the party, by any means necessary."

Matt gaped. "But why?" he asked. "Why buy something so expensive just to - ?"

"It was never a matter of money." Francis interrupted smoothly. "For either of us. It was another way to extend the rivalry, show the other person up, have your moment of gloating. It was a _game_." the Frenchman sighed. "After you fainted, Arthur told me he had wanted you to steal _everything_ from me. Is that right?"

"Yes, he said, seventy million dollars worth," Matt confirmed with a frown. "But...if this was something you two did often, why would he ask us to steal everything?"

There was something far away and nostalgic in Francis's eyes. "Because he wanted it to be the last time," he admitted. "He told me he was planning on moving away after all this was over, maybe to America. Something about making things work with your brother."

"Why play this game?" Matt asked quietly. "What is there for you to gain?" He'd been sitting in shock this whole time, clenching the bedclothes in his fists.

Francis was silent for a moment. "_Mon cher_," he said finally. "You know - or, I would hope you _do_ know by now - that I have had troubles with relationships in the past. When you are from such a...well to do family, you learn not to trust others. Though I had lots of company, I did not get too close to anyone. Playing that game...so foolish, so dangerous and wasteful, I felt in control. Like it meant something, when really all I was doing was wasting my time, working towards something destructive. For dragging you into in, Mathieu, I apologize." Francis stopped speaking for a moment and looked at him, really _looked_ at him, and Matt looked back, trying to see the emotion in Francis's eyes, head spinning from this new knowledge.

"When I found out that you were involved in all this, I felt like the world had ended." Francis told him honestly. "I had grown to care about you very much and I felt angrier than I should of been because I felt like I had been a fool to care about you. Because I was so angry I lashed out at you." Francis's lips quirked upwards, and when he took Matt's hand again the Canadian did not pull away. "I was so happy when you came back and offered to help me. I didn't want you to turn out to be another one of Kirkland's boys who is paid to deceive me and then disappears. I wanted this to mean something."

"It _does_ mean something." Matt said into his hands.

With a sly smirk, Francis added, "I have never known anyone foolish enough to take a bullet for me, either."

When he noticed Matt wasn't smiling, he tilted his head. "Talk to me, _cher_. What's wrong?"

"It's just..." Matt was grasping for words, trying to wrap his head around everything. "This - my brother got _hired_ for this. We spent _weeks_ planning this, invested time and, and weapons and everything! My brother had to spend months here! And this is all a _game_ to you?? Something to do in your free time when it strikes your fancy, over something you could care less about?" Matt sighed and buried his face in his hands. "I'm an idiot, Aron was right..."

"_Cher_..." Francis looked halfway between amused and concerned. "I am sorry. That you were led on like that. I did not mean to upset you."

Matt turned his eyes away, embarrassed, as Francis slid from his chair and perched on the edge of his bed.

"Mathieu, look at me." Francis ordered gently, and when Matt looked back at him Francis was staring at him with such intensity he almost turned his head again.

"Mathieu, I have never met any other person with whom I felt so comfortable and so exposed. It's a frightening feeling, but it is a _good_ feeling. You understand? Ah." Francis paused, frowning. "You will forgive me, my English is...never adequate in situations like this. I think I will cut to the chase? I love you, Mathieu."

Matt's heart stopped. "Y...you what?" he asked squeakily, hardly daring to believe it. His hand tightened in Francis's. _Now_ Francis looked thoroughly amused.

"Was that a request for me to repeat myself or explain myself?" he asked. "I love you, Mathieu, though I am sure I am a fool for doing so. I won't blame you if you feel any different - I'm sure this whole escapade was reason enough to not want anything to do with me. But I need to tell you my feelings before I lose you again."

Matt didn't know what to say, so he settled for kissing the Frenchman squarely on the lips. It didn't last long, though Francis obviously wanted it to by the way he leaned in and laced their fingers together, but Matt pulled away with a little smile.

"I love you too." he said sincerely. "God, you know I do! And I think - if it's all right with you - I would like to try..._us_...again. Without the heists and the - the lying. Everything."

Francis stared at him; then he smiled, and in one movement climbed fluidly on top of Matt, straddling his hips, one hand playing idly with the curl that perched on the top of Matt's head.

"_Everything_?" he repeated slyly, and Matt turned bright red.

"W-well!" the Canadian spluttered. "I mean...maybe not _everything_. Some things were...nice!"

"Some things?" Francis sighed, and leaned down to press a small kiss against the junction between Matt's jaw and neck. "You'll have to be more specific, Mathieu, I'm afraid my memory is going."

"You - " Matt tilted his head to allow Francis to continue kissing down his neck. "I - you know what I mean!"

Francis hummed in thought. "Mmm, no, I'm afraid not." Slowly, his fingers trailed down the front of Matt's torso, dipping and pressing in all the right places, making the Canadian squirm.

Matt huffed, trying to kiss Francis back and instead getting a mouthful of golden hair for his efforts. "I - I mean what we did after the chess game..."

"Ah, of course, _that_." Francis sounded positively gleeful in between suckles to Matt's clavicle. "How could I forget?"

"You're horrible!" Matt exclaimed breathily, hand fluttering to rest between Francis's shoulder blades, feeling them shift and roll as the man moved down, licking and nipping. Francis abruptly stopped, lifting his head to meet Matt's eyes with a serious look on his face.

"How does your shoulder feel?" he asked. "If I am hurting you in any way - "

"No!" the exclamation was _too_ eager, and Matt flushed. "No," he said again, "I - I'm fine. Really."

Francis's lips curled upwards wickedly and he rubbed a thumb across Matt's hips. "All right." he said, and slowly pulled the covers back to reveal Matt's legs.

Matt doesn't want to wait for Francis to come to him, as he has been doing that for too long. As Francis propped himself back up, winding the covers around them in a sort of cocoon, Matt surged forwards, wrapped his good arm around Francis's neck, and pulled him back down onto the bed. Francis let out a laugh into his mouth.

"Is that how you want to play it?" he purred, kneading his hand into Matt's hip, stroking continually closer to the hem of the pants. Matt nodded breathlessly against Francis's cheek, trying to hold on to this feeling. Francis kissed him again, a slow, sweet melding of tongues that had Matt's senses thrilling, before the Frenchman hooked two fingers on Matt's pants and pulled them down. Matt shifted, moved his hips to accommodate, and what he pressed up against made his heart race.

"Are you sure?" Francis asked again, huskily this time, in his ear. "_Mon cher_, I don't think I can stop again."

A little frustrated, Matt pressed his hips up once more, up against Francis's erection, and reveled in the hiss he drew from the older man. "_Yes_, I'm _sure_." he groaned.

There was a pause. Then Francis chuckled. "Naughty boy." he cooed, tonguing the edge of Matt's ear before getting off him entirely. Matt immediately missed the weight.

When he managed to awkwardly prop himself up again, he leaned against the headboard and watched Francis undress. Francis noticed him watching and, with half-lidded eyes, made sure to put on a show for him. By the time Francis's shirt slid off his shoulders, Matt was practically squirming with desire. It didn't help that Francis _knew_ that, too.

"Lie back." Francis commanded gently. "_Mon cher, mon Mathieu_, have you ever done this before?"

Nervously, Matt shook his head, and a smile spread across Francis's face. "_Ah_, _mon amour_," he purred. "_C'est bien_, I promise I will go slowly. Now, bend your knees for me."

Biting his lip and turning his eyes up to the ceiling, Matt did as he was told, spreading his legs for Francis, feeling exposed in just his underwear. Francis carefully slid the last article of clothing off the Canadian's legs, and then simply knelt there, hands cupped on Matt's knees, a soft look in his blue eyes.

"You are so beautiful." he told Matt sincerely. "Don't ever forget it."

A hand nudged in between his legs and Matt let out a whimper. Francis's fingers were slick, and when they pressed against his tight ring of muscles, he seized up and closed his eyes.

"_Non_, _non_, relax." Francis's breath was hot in his ear. "Mathieu, this will hurt less if you relax. Deep breath..." Matt obediently in took a breath. "...good. Now let it out."

As Matt blew it out in a huff, Francis pressed in, and Matt let out an "eep". It felt funny and strange and _oh_ what was that that Francis had just brushed? Matt's surprise must have shown in his face, because Francis smiled at him.

"You see?" he asked. "It gets better."

Francis's fingers were moving inside him, and it felt so weird and so right that before long Matt was turning his head into the pillow, punching his hips upwards and whining something that might have been Francis's name.

"I think you are ready." Francis sounded hurried and out of breath, and his hand shook slightly as he rubbed circles over Matt's stomach in comfort. His other hand was busy with his own cock, which Matt could see jutting from between Francis's legs. It made him feel anxious and ready all at the same time as Francis deftly rolled a condom on.

"I'm sorry, _cher_," Francis was saying, positioning himself, giving Matt a few good strokes to tide him over, "but it will only hurt for a little bit."

When Francis pushed in Matt saw stars - and not the good kind. He let out a little yelp, and dug his nails into the skin of Francis's shoulders. Francis let him, panting as he waited, trembling, for Matt to adjust.

"I - I'm fine." Matt choked out, shifting against the burning sensation. "I - just move, _please_ - !"

"All right, dear heart." Francis soothed, and rolled his hips forward. Matt arched and whimpered.

"AH, F-Francis, I - "

"You are too precious." Francis leaned over him, bracing a hand by his shoulder to steady himself, and placed a kiss on Matt's crown. "I love you, Mathieu, I want to make you feel good."

The burning had subsided, and now when Francis moved it elicited a shudder of pleasure that he felt through his spine and out to his fingers. His toes curled, and he wrapped his legs around Francis's waist.

"Mm_mmm_mm, h-harder, please!" he cried before he could stop himself, and Francis chuckled in his ear, hair tickling Matt's eyes.

"Hmm, all right." he agreed, and pushed his hips fiercely against Matt. Matt cried out, and clapped a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound.

Francis was murmuring now, soft French in Matt's ear that the Canadian could only half understand, in his haze ("_Tu es parfait_...", Francis moaned, "_Je suis très heureux, mon mignon, mon moitié, je t'aime_...")

It was all hot heat and oversensitive nerves, and Matt could feel the pressure in his cock mounting, mounting, until he was nearly crying from the pleasure.

"I - I'm going to...Francis..." he panted, and Francis tried to maneuver his hand between their bodies. His fist closed over Matt's cock, and Matt shivered. He wrapped his arms around Francis's neck and kissed the Frenchman deeply as his cock jumped in Francis's grip and he came all over his abdomen. Francis was moving in jerky thrusts, nipping at Matt's bottom lip as he mumbled something into his mouth. Matt jumped, a little surprised as Francis groaned and released himself inside Matt - the Canadian could feel the warmth and he squirmed at the feeling.

Francis let the kiss last a little longer before he drew back with a small smile, kissed the tip of Matt's nose, and gingerly withdrew. Matt lay there in wonderment and exhaustion as Francis disposed of the condom and then lay back down beside him, one arm around his waist, kissing him on the cheek.

"I've waited a long time to do that." Francis sighed, hand tracing patterns in Matt's skin. "Do you feel all right?"

"Uhm." Matt lifted his hips experimentally. "A little sore...."

"Ah." Francis looked amused. "Shall I kiss it better?"

Matt flushed red and swatted at the laughing Frenchman. "Sh-shush!" he chided, and stretched out his hand to intertwine his fingers with Francis's.

"I, uhm..." Matt paused, not sure what to say. "That was amazing, Francis. _Merci_."

"_Mon petit chaton_." Francis murmured, kissing each of Matt's finger joints. "It was just as amazing for me, as well."

Matt let the silence wash over him as he basked in the sunny feeling he had from just lying there and holding Francis's hand. He couldn't believe he just did what he did, but he didn't regret it - it was perfect, and Francis had been so caring it had almost broken his heart.

"Oh, and before you get angry with me," Francis spoke up, idly brushing fingers through Matt's hair. "My excuse is that I was carried away in the moment."

Matt frowned up at the ceiling, and turned his head to meet Francis's sheepish look. "...What are you talking about?" he asked.

"Your brother is waiting downstairs to talk to you." Francis told him, and tried to bite back a grin when Matt shot straight up in bed, clambering for his shirt with one good arm and trying to ignore the sting in his backside.

"Y-you mean we've been doing..._this_ - " Matt gestured wildly with his hand. "And...all this time...Al's been..."

Francis's expression was answer enough. Matt huffed in exasperation. "_Francis_!" he declared. "You're horrible!"

"So you have told me." Francis sighed, reaching out an arm to absently stroke Matt's side. "Come and lay with me for a few more minutes, please, I am enjoying the moment - "

Matt pouted angrily as he pulled his shirt over his head. "Well, next time you should pick a better moment!" he said, slapping Francis's hand gently as it started to wander south. "God, he's never going to let me live this down..."

Francis sighed again and propped his head up on his elbow, watching the Canadian fuss about and try to fix his sweaty, messy hair.

"It was worth it." he told the younger man, who merely rolled his eyes and shot him a fond glare. Francis laughed.

_You're stuck with me now,_ the Frenchman's blue eyed gaze seemed to say, and Matt found little to be angry about over _that_.

* * *

_END CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE_

* * *

**Translations:**

_Tu es parfait...Je suis très heureux, mon mignon, mon moitié, je t'aime_ - You are perfect...I am very happy, my lovely, my half, I love you

_Mon petit chaton_ - My little kitten

**Author's Note: **There's one more chapter after this and then the epilogue. Thanks, as always, for reading!


	26. Chapter 26

**Author's Note: **I tried very hard to wrap up everything I wanted to wrap up. I hope all your questions were answered - or at least most of them. After all, there's no predictability in real life, and I wanted to leave some threads open for interpretation :) Hope you enjoy, as always!

* * *

When Matt and Francis descended the stairs to the main floor, Alfred was waiting for them with such a stricken look on his face that Matt burst out laughing and quickened his pace so he could throw one arm around his brother in comfort.

"_I _walked in on _you_." he reminded Alfred, to which the elder groaned:

"_Yes_, but _I_ had to listen to _you_, and that's worse because then everything is left to your imagination."

"Oh, were you imagining things about us?" Francis asked slyly, leaning amiably on Alfred's other shoulder. "Well _chaton_, having a _ménage à trois_ is quite common..."

Alfred looked like he might be physically sick. Matt frowned. "Francis!"

"I am joking!" Francis hurried to point out, letting go of Alfred in favor of grasping Matt's hands. "I would never _dream_ of suggesting such a thing...unless your brother was wiling and you could somehow be coerced..."

"Francis." Matt said again, but there was a smile in his voice, and Francis felt a little triumphant as he bent to kiss the corner of Matt's mouth.

Alfred frowned, and told Francis bluntly, "I have my eye on you."

Francis laughed. "Another time, perhaps." he sighed wistfully, sliding an arm around Matt's waist.

"What are you talking about, you perverted wanker?" Arthur asked rudely, appearing at Alfred's side. Matt jumped, not expecting Arthur to be there. The Brit cast him an apologetic glance from underneath his eyebrows.

"How is your shoulder?" he asked. Matt smiled.

"Um, good, thank you. It's still a little sore."

"Good, good." Arthur seemed distracted, and finally asked, "Alfred, may I speak to you a moment?"

Alfred didn't look surprised at this request - rather, he set his jaw in a determined fashion and nodded. "Okay."

After the two moved into another room, Matt turned to Francis. "Why is Mr. Kirkland still here?"

"He wanted to make sure I didn't press charges or something ridiculous like that." Francis took his hand. "Come down to the kitchen. There's some people you should talk to."

The biggest shock was that _everyone_ was in the kitchen, and by everyone Matt _meant_ everyone. Sadiq and Heracles were sitting at the kitchen table on either side of Kiku, who was sipping at a cup of tea and nursing his pride. Elizaveta and Roderich were at the other end murmuring sweetly to each other, hands intertwined under the table. Gilbert had scooted his chair as far away from the couple as possible, and was sulking darkly, legs thrown carelessly over the lap of his little brother. Ludwig, for his part, was more concerned with watching Feliciano than dealing with his brother's limbs. The little Italian, in the meantime, had somehow been allowed to make pasta on the stove, and was eagerly showing Chelles the secret to making the perfect Italian pasta.

Berwald was sprawled on one of the chairs, looking quite beat up. Tino's face was swelling a little, but he was nervously pressing ice to Berwald's face with patient gentleness. Ivan's hulking form was opposite Tino, and though his nose was smashed in and there was blood in his hair the Russian was still smiling placidly. The conversation stopped when Matt and Francis entered - Feliciano didn't notice them come in, and continued humming cheerily until he was nudged.

"Everyone's still here?" Matt asked in surprise, clutching automatically onto Francis's hand. Elizaveta stood and moved to embrace him joyfully.

"You had us worried!" she declared." Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, thank you." Matt assured her, returning the hug. "How are you? Is everything all right?"

"Oh, just fine!" Elizaveta chirped. "We were waiting for you to wake up."

"Sorry I took so long." Matt apologized, trying to hide his smile. "I'm here now."

"Sit down." Elizaveta motioned to two empty chairs, but Francis steered him to the one furthest from Ivan and remained standing.

"So! _Mes amis_." the man began cheerfully. "We are here to discuss what will happen to you now."

Everyone was silent. Francis turned to Matt. "Mathieu, it is up to you. Should I arrest them or should I let them go?"

Matt, taken aback, took a moment to survey the team. Every one of them had helped him in some way - Kiku had given the photos to Arthur, yes, but he had also originally withheld them, even though Matt was neither a close friend nor a person he could trust. Gilbert had tackled him and nearly broke his arm, but had always been quick to include him in group activities and talk to him. Ludwig had held a gun to his head, but Matt could see the expression with which he looked at Feliciano, and who was he to be a hypocrite? Ivan...was a maniac, but he had been the one to really give Matt advice when he was starting out.

"I don't want them to be arrested." Matt said slowly. "Because that would be hypocritical of me. I was given a second chance and they should, too."

Francis raised his eyebrows. "Are you sure?" he asked.

"Positive." Matt replied dryly. He turned to Gilbert. "Did Mr. Kirkland pay you yet?"

Gilbert glowered but shook his head.

"Okay." Matt paused, thinking. "I'll make him pay you for the job, because you planned everything and it's only fair you get your money."

"You'll _make_ him - ?" Francis asked in amusement, but Matt glared at him and he wisely fell silent.

Taking a deep breath, the Canadian turned back to the table, and said, "I know you're all probably pretty angry with me, and I know the last thing you want to do is listen to me ramble on and on, so I'll make this quick. I'm sorry that I messed up your plans - " he was interrupted briefly by a loud snort from Gilbert " - I _am_, Gilbert, so don't give me that. This was a job you were being paid for and you trusted me to help and I didn't. But I'm not sorry that I made that decision. I had a choice to make and I chose what felt right to me. But I'm really grateful to you, for accepting me into your group. You guys were a lot of fun to hang around with, but you had a job to do and I don't blame you for that. I had something that was more important to me." Matt shrugged. "I guess that's all I wanted to say to you."

Everyone stared at him for a moment. Then Gilbert announced, "That was really gay."

Matt blushed. Elizaveta swatted the Prussian over the head.

"I thought it was sweet!" she told him.

Gilbert scoffed. "You _would_," he told her. "Cuz you're a _woman_."

"Oh, how good of you to notice." the Hungarian woman hissed between clenched teeth. Matt held his hands up placidly.

"Yeah, that was a little lame." he admitted. "But it's true. And I kind of don't care anymore, about saying what I feel."

Behind him, he heard Francis make a noise of amusement.

"So if you accept what I said or not, know that I meant it. Uhm." Matt looked back at Francis to confirm. "I guess if there's nothing else, you can go."

Francis nodded and the four men rose to their feet. "Good luck." Matt told them. Kiku inclined his head.

"Thank you, Matthew-san." he said quietly as he stepped past Matt. "We appreciate the sentiment."

Matt nodded back. "Y-you're welcome."

Gilbert looked him over, then slapped him on the shoulder. "You're all right." he told him. "Your awesomeness has sort of decreased, but that's to be expected."

"Thanks, Gilbert." Matt said dryly. Ludwig gave him a quick appraisal, then grabbed Feliciano's arm softly to pull him away ("but what about my brother?" Feliciano was asking. "Your brother is fine, he said he was going back to his hotel." Francis replied).

The two brothers didn't talk much, but left the kitchen quickly and efficiently, with one last glance at Matt. Matt watched them go.

As Ivan passed him, Matt took a deep breath, reached out, and grabbed the Russian's wrist. Ivan pulled his hand back immediately.

Not a good sign.

"Uhm, Ivan, can I talk to you for a minute?" Matt asked. Icy violet eyes surveyed him.

"Yes." Ivan agreed. "But only for a minute."

Francis put a hand on Matt's lower back, but Matt sent him a reassuring look - the Frenchman reluctantly stayed in the kitchen as Matt followed the Russian out the door.

Ivan assumed a defensive stance in the middle of the hallway, arms crossed, legs shoulder width apart. His smile was cold.

"Well?" he prompted. Matt looked up at him.

"I'm sorry I kissed you." he said evenly. "It was a dirty trick, but I was under a lot of pressure, and I was desperate. It was the only distraction I could think of."

"That is all?" Ivan asked coolly, tilting his head. "You're _sorry_?"

Matt didn't flinch. "What else do you want me to say?" he pressed. "I'm _not_ sorry for helping Francis. I'm _not_ sorry for leaving the team to do what I felt was right. But at the same time I'm sorry for betraying you and I'm sorry for using your feelings unfairly."

Ivan gave a sort of snort. "This man, Bonnefoy. _He_ is the one you love?" he asked. Matt nodded readily, prompting a sigh from the Russian. "Matthew," Ivan said in a patronizing voice. "I am a little disappointed, that you would do this. I did not think you as a boy who was so easily entranced."

Matt dropped his eyes to the floor in order to regain his composure.

"What do you want me to do about it?" he asked lightly.

"Kiss me." Ivan said, completely serious, leaning down. The ice in his eyes had retreated.

Matt laughed softly, not even blinking as their noses bumped. "I've made a new resolution this year," he replied, keeping his tone joking and light. "I never kiss people anymore unless I mean it."

"Then you will kiss me like you mean it?" Ivan murmured, locking their eyes, running one broad hand up the length of Matt's arm.

Matt just looked steadily at him, shaking his head.

"Goodbye, Ivan." he said. "I hope one day you can forgive me. You were a very good friend to me."

"Oh? A pity." Ivan was even closer now; Matt could feel the scarf he always wore through the thin fabric of his t-shirt. "I was trying for _more_ than that."

Matt caught Ivan's jaw and stopped him from leaning in just as Francis stepped out into the hallway.

Neither of them looked at the Frenchman. Ivan looked like he was _challenging_ Matt, and Matt matched his stare.

"That's enough." the Canadian said at last, pushing at Ivan's jaw. The Russian squeezed his elbow softly once, twice.

_Okay_, his eyes seemed to say, _so that's enough, then_.

Then Ivan straightened up, cast Francis a cool look, and brushed past him down the hallway.

Matt remained standing, jaw clenched, staring at the spot Ivan had recently stood. Francis took two steps forward and the Canadian closed the rest of the distance, wrapping his arms around the older man's waist and burying his face in the Frenchman's shoulder.

Francis sighed and returned the embrace. "What an end to such a laborious journey, hm?" he laughed, then tilted Matt's face up for a kiss. Matt welcomed the distraction, holding tight and opening his mouth to his lover.

"So tell me," Francis purred against his lips as they parted, thumb rubbing soothing circles into Matt's shoulder. "How is your resolution going?"

Matt frowned playfully. "Eavesdropper." he accused, and reached up for another kiss in order to answer Francis's question.

When they came upstairs again, Alfred and Arthur were still talking in the small side room, tones hushed and serious. Matt and Francis exchanged glances.

"Knowing Kirkland," Francis said, settling in a chair with a sigh, "It will take him _weeks_ to admit he's done anything wrong, let alone apologize."

"That's okay," Matt smiled. "My brother's stubborn enough to outlast him."

At this, Francis laughed and beckoned for Matt to sit with him. The Canadian gingerly moved towards him and settled himself on Francis's lap. The Frenchman curled his arms around Matt's waist and rested his chin on his shoulder. Matt squirmed when Francis's stubble tickled his neck.

"So what are we going to do, now?" Francis asked, and the implications of the question made Matt sit up straighter.

"Well," the younger man began slowly. "I've been thinking about going back to school. And my friend tells me really good things about the university in Marseille..."

He felt Francis kiss his neck in delight. "So when are you planning on starting?" he wanted to know.

Matt was about to answer when his cell phone started ringing. With an apology he dug it from his jacket pocket.

"Matt," a growling, angry sounding Sanchez said by way of a greeting. "Pardon my French, but _when the fuck are you coming back_? It's been a goddamn _month_!"

Matt winced. "I'm sorry!" he exclaimed. "I - I'll be home as soon as I can! I promise - I'll even bring you ice cream to make up for it!"

"Ice cream?" the Cuban's voice softened a little. "Well, you'd _better_. Your dog's starting to mope. Keep in touch, will ya?" then he hung up.

Turning back to Francis, who was looking confused, Matt explained, "I'll have to go back home and get some things. And also my dog."

"Your dog?" Francis repeated, rubbing circles teasingly low over Matt's abdomen. "Is it a cute dog?"

Matt thought back to the times Kumajirou had drooled over his couch, chewed on his shoes and forgot he existed.

"Ah...he's _energetic_." he offered by way of a response. Francis chuckled against Matt's neck.

"Always the diplomat." he remarked. "No matter. There are plenty of apartments in Marseille that are large enough to accommodate such an "energetic" dog. I will help find one for you to stay in while you attend university. After that, I'm sure I can coerce Sadiq into dog-proofing the gardens."

Something warm settled in Matt's gut, and he turned in order to kiss Francis sweetly. "Thank you." he said sincerely. "I'm sure Kuma would like that very much."

"_I_ would like it very much if you kept kissing me." Francis suggested, and with a flushing of his cheeks Matt obliged.

* * *

It was almost unspoken, the way the two of them worked, and Roderich was unnerved by this - after Matthew and Francis had left the kitchen, he had excused himself from his wife's company and slipped out the back servant's entrance.

Gilbert was waiting for him outside, a cigarette between his teeth and a haughty look on his face.

"Come to say goodbye?" he sneered. Roderich consciously straightened his collar.

"Something like that." he replied evenly. Gilbert took a careful step towards him.

"That was a nice trick," the albino remarked. "Like out of a fucking movie or something. Your staff really knows how to bring people down."

"We do what we need to." Roderich's tone was calm and Gilbert wanted to smack him until he heard that edge, that bite the Austrian always used when his temper ran out.

"You ready to answer that question?" Gilbert asked, sucking on the end of the cigarette thoughtfully. He held the smoke in his mouth as he watched Roderich stiffen.

"_No_, because I can't." Roderich's jaw clenched - Gilbert reveled in the power he had to do that. He bared his teeth and let the smoke filter out between them. His eyes stung.

"It's pretty simple," he pressed patronizingly. "Which one of us were you happier with?"

"I can't compare you two because you are not the same." Roderich told him. "You and Elizaveta made me happy in different ways."

"If I made you happy then why did you leave me?" Gilbert wanted to know. A bit of ash fell from his cigarette - he watched it go. Roderich did too.

"Because you started making me unhappy more than you made me happy." he answered quietly. Gilbert laughed, and even _he_ winced at the bitterness in the sound.

"_How_ did I make you unhappy?" he snarled. "I gave - _Christ_ Edelstein, I gave up _everything_ for you!"

"I didn't ask you to." Roderich murmured. "You never - I just couldn't go through a relationship with you where we hit each other just to see if the other one could bleed. It was _toxic_, Gilbert, you understand? And maybe you couldn't see it, but _I_ could. So I got out."

"I loved you." Gilbert said solemnly, red eyes unblinking in the darkness and Roderich, who hadn't heard those words from that mouth for several years, was temporarily caught off guard.

"And I loved you too." he admitted. "But obviously not enough because here we are."

Gilbert gave a mirthless chuckle. "Yeah, here we are. So Elizaveta, she's not toxic for you, huh? She's all sweet and sugary and you guys have a grand ol' time staring into each other's eyes and saying how much you _love_ each other?"

"No. And don't assume things like that." Roderich shot back. "It's none of your business - Elizaveta and I have our ups and downs just like every other couple out there."

"So you're happier with her." Gilbert concluded. He licked his fingers and pinched the butt of his cigarette out before throwing it to the ground. Roderich winced, a reflex.

"I guess this is the happy I prefer." he said. "Is that what you wanted to hear, Gilbert? You just want an excuse to hate me. Should I indulge you? Should I make up things to tell you so that you can leave here and be satisfied in the knowledge that you hate my guts? I want you to move on because I have too, and there's no point in waiting for me. And if I can help you in any way, to do that, then I will, because contrary to what you might think I _don't _hate you."

Gilbert rolled his eyes. "You're almost as gay as Matt." he sniped. "I don't need your pity, Edelstein. I don't _need_ to move on because I already have."

Roderich let a bitter smile settle on his lips. "Then why are you still standing here?" he asked.

"Funny thing," Gilbert remarked flippantly, grinding his discarded butt beneath his boot in a rhythmic and unnecessary fashion. "I just came to see if I could still do it."

Roderich frowned. "Do what?" he asked.

"Make you crack." Gilbert answered with a smirk. "Around everyone else you were always this limp-wristed aristocrat, this mild, simpering little son of a bitch with this cool little face and whenever I saw you like that I wanted to _break_ you. And I was the only one who ever could, and whenever you yelled at me or whenever I got under your skin I felt..._good_, you know? Because I was the only one who every got to see that, I was the only one who could _make_ you like that. Like what you really were, not that prissy thing you showed everyone else." Gilbert stepped closer so the two men were almost nose to nose. Roderich could smell the nicotine on his breath. "Do you scream at Elizaveta the way you used to scream at me?"

"The fact that you took pleasure in upsetting me and goading me confirms that I made the right decision when I left you." Roderich snapped, something cold and angry in the corner of his mouth, and Gilbert grabbed his face with a triumphant laugh, twisting the brunette's head back to face him.

"You see?" Gilbert crowed. "You see this? This is _mine_. I _made_ this."

"Get off me." Roderich snarled, and shoved the flat of his arm against Gilbert's sternum. The Prussian stumbled backwards with a wheezing laugh.

"Liz only sees _half_ of you, Roddy!" In the lamplight of the back entrance Gilbert was painfully beautiful, all pale hair and Devil eyes, and Roderich's chest ached at the sight. "_I _see all of you, even if you don't want me to!"

"Get out of here." Roderich fought to keep his voice steady. "You have already ruined my life, Gilbert, isn't that _enough_?"

Gilbert laughed again, a painful, almost hysterical sound, and retreated into the darkness, down the driveway where Roderich knew the rest of his team waited. "Never," he thought he heard Gilbert say. "It will never be enough."

Roderich stood alone in the threshold of the servant's entrance, leaning heavily against the door. He almost wanted to cry.

But he didn't. He wouldn't give the bastard the satisfaction.

* * *

Ivan's van, still parked beyond the gates to the villa, in the shade of some trees, only had two slashed tires, and Mikkel had reappeared from wherever he had gone ("Sorry guys, I got waylaid!" he had said cheerfully) to help Sadiq and Heracles replace them. Kiku opened the van's back doors and sat quietly in the back, watching Heracles using the car jack while Sadiq absently rolled the spare tire back and forth on the ground as he waited.

Kiku gave a little frown when Sadiq looked up at him and winked - by this time Heracles was standing up and elbowed the Turk a little harder than he should have, instructing him to replace the tire. With a tired roll of his eyes, Sadiq knelt to obey, and Heracles turned to catch Kiku's eyes.

"Was this a very expensive job?" Heracles asked the Japanese man quietly, and Kiku's frown deepened.

"It was." he said simply. "But the amount is none of your concern."

Heracles shrugged off the curt remark. "Well, I'm sorry we had to interfere." he said. "I hope you have more luck next time."

Kiku nodded his head. "Thank you." he said. Then he blinked as Heracles stepped closer, towering over him.

"There's something in your hair," the Greek murmured, and leaned down to pluck whatever it is from Kiku's head. Kiku obediently stayed still, his eyes turned upwards. Heracles was watching him intently, a small smile curling his lips up, and Kiku flushed just as an arm was wrapped around the Greek's midsection and he was pulled away from Kiku.

Sadiq looked extremely unhappy, keeping his arm around Heracles as he snapped, "All done. Let's go, brat."

Heracles gave a smug smile. "So long." he told Kiku. Kiku raised his hand, bewildered.

"Goodbye."

Sadiq gave a grunt and began towing the Greek up towards the villa. Kiku leaned out the back of the van as he heard Sadiq say, "...such a fuckin' _tease_."

"It was payback." came Heracles' reply. Sadiq started muttering darkly in Turkish. Kiku shook his head and leaned back. Presently Ivan joined him, clambering into the front after inspecting the tires. Ludwig was standing with Feliciano as the little Italian used his cell phone to call his brother ("Yes I _am_ with Ludwig!" Feliciano was crying into the phone, wrapping himself around the German's arm like some sort of Slinky. "B-brother, nothing _happened_! Don't call him that! I'm _fine_! Brother, stop swearing, you're not _listening_ - !" Ludwig looked as if he wanted something to drink very badly).

Gilbert slunk up without Kiku noticing, smelling like tobacco with a dark, brooding look on his face. He kicked some gravel around for a bit before regaining his usual "fuck all" composure. Kiku noticed the albino looking over his shoulder only once or twice, back towards the villa.

Finally, Ivan leaned out the window and snapped, "Are we going?"

"Yes." Ludwig answered for everyone. "We need to drop Feliciano off at a hotel in Marseille. His brother is waiting for him."

"Oh, good." Ivan said simply. "Get in the van."

"What crawled up _your_ ass and died?" Kiku heard Gilbert mutter sourly as the rest of the team hurried to get seated before Ivan turned the engine on and reversed with sharp, angry motions.

Ivan said nothing, just stepped on the gas. Gilbert said something in German that was probably very rude (considering the look he received from Ludwig), and hurried to hold on to something.

"I'm going to kind of miss those two." he said finally, his voice a little happier. "Especially Al."

"That's because he was the only one you could beat in Super Smash Bros." Ludwig pointed out. Gilbert scowled.

"I can beat _everyone_ in Super Smash Bros." he declared. "It's just Al was the funnest to beat."

"That's not a word."

"Take the stick out of your ass, West."

Kiku turned to look at the villa as they peeled away, before it disappeared behind the trees.

"I will miss them too." he declared. "But I am happy that they know what they want in life."

Gilbert cast the Japanese man an odd look. "Yeah." he agreed, which surprised Kiku. "I guess not many people know _that_, do they?"

Kiku thought of a man he once knew in Beijing, and smiled.

"That's right."

* * *

_Two days later..._

"Do I have everything?" Matt asked, frantically patting his pockets. He pulled out his passport, his wallet, and looked down at his suitcase. "I hope I didn't forget anything. Lars might sell it. Do you think he'd sell it? He probably wouldn't even know it was mine - "

"_Cher_." Francis sounded amused. "We have been through this. You have everything. If you insist on waffling any longer I am going to give in, throw you over my shoulder, and take you back to my villa where I will do things to you that nobody in this airport wants to see."

Matt shivered in a mixture of dread and anticipation. "...Can't you wait until I get back?" he asked quietly. Francis sighed and slung an arm around Matt's waist, careful to avoid Matt's shoulder - though the bullet had only nicked Matt, the shallow wound was still a little tender, and bandaged under Matt's long-sleeved shirt.

"_Oui_," he agreed reluctantly. "Though it will be hard."

"It's only going to be a couple of days." Matt offered optimistically, winding his hand into Francis's, leaning against the half-embrace. "I only have to take care of selling the apartment and storing all my stuff, and then bring Kuma and some more clothes back here."

"A couple of days is a long time!" Francis defended sourly. "Especially since I only just got you back."

Matt laughed and reached up to peck his lips. "You never lost me." he said sincerely. "And I'm going to be late for my flight, so..."

"_Oui_." Francis said again and, ignoring Matt's protests, picked up the Canadian's suitcase and walked him to customs.

Matt turned, a smile on his face. "I'll see you soon?" he asked.

"I'll see you soon." Francis repeated, then paused before dipping down to kiss the younger man once more. "Be safe, Mathieu. Say hello to your energetic dog for me."

"Okay." Matt's smile was so sweet, Francis almost _wanted_ him to miss his flight. "I'll phone you when I get home...uhm, and when it's an acceptable hour, too."

Francis shook his head. "_Non_, please phone me as soon as you get home. I don't care what time it is."

"Francis..." Matt flushed. "I wouldn't want to wake you up..."

"I _want_ you to wake me up." Francis insisted. "Honestly, I would be glad to hear your voice, no matter what the time."

Matt was beet red with pleasure. "You're..." he huffed. "Unbelievable."

"So I am told." Francis said dryly, placing one last kiss on Matt's face. "Now, hurry up, _mon cher_. I want you to get home as soon as you can so you can come _back_ as soon as you can."

"I will." Matt promised. Then he looked up and smiled. "I love you, Francis."

"Love you too, Mathieu." Francis replied with a wink and a quick not-so-decent grope before sending the blushing youth on his way.

Matt turned once more before entering the line for customs. He looked back at the Frenchman and felt something warm in his chest, lighting the blush that fanned his cheeks.

It was a good feeling, and as the Frenchman lifted his arm to wave goodbye Matt turned back around, feeling as if this was the first day of the rest of his life.

* * *

_END CHAPTER TWENTY SIX_

* * *

**Author's Note:** Epilogue next!


	27. Epilogue

**Author's Note: **I forgot to mention a belated _Lest We Forget_ for Remembrance Day. AND Veteran's Day!

* * *

_SIX MONTHS LATER..._

* * *

The bell above the door rang and Matthew Williams looked up from the till he was fiddling with. "Good morning!" he said sweetly to the couple who had just entered the bakery.

Matt's original plan had been to go back to school, but he wasn't fooling himself - he barely had the money to move here, even _with_ the selling of his apartment, and though Francis had offered time and time again to pay for his schooling, Matt didn't want to accept his charity.

Lars, ever the entrepreneur, had suggested that they open a bakery together. There was a little place not far from his apartment that was for sale, and the Dutch man had taken a couple of cooking classes before.

Matt was, as always, dubious of any plan that came out of Lars's mouth that seemed hastily planned, but for once his Dutch friend seemed to be on to something.

Plus, it helped that Noah, who lived down the hall from Lars and also happened to be starting a tenuous relationship with the Dutch man, had just graduated from culinary school.

Not four months later, _Cambriolage_ (_that_ was Matt's idea - he thought it was fitting) opened its doors to the public. It was a small bakery with sort of a homey, throwback style - airy windows, pastel colour scheme - but the locals had quickly taken to it, and Noah made a mean chocolate _mille feuille_ to keep newcomers interested.

As the couple linked arms and leaned with interest over one of the glass display cases, Matt shut the till gently with his hip and looked over his shoulder, into the back. Lars was leaning against the baker's table, talking excitedly to Noah. The brunette was trying his best to ignore the Dutch man, folding pastry with patient hands. On the counter, right beside the giant refrigerator, was a blue ceramic vase full of brightly coloured tulips. Matt hid a smile. Noah had proved a prickly customer, throwing off Lars's advances with firmness, but the Dutch man was persistent in his "wooing" - every day for the past two weeks he'd been bringing in flowers for Noah, and Matt could see that the brunette was slowly, but surely cracking. Even now, a dusting of pink was visible on the baker's face as he kneaded.

Somewhere in the back the phone rang. Lars spun on his heel and, seeing Matt already looking at them, gave him a wink and hollered, "_Phone_!"

Matt rolled his eyes and pointed up at the front, indicating that Lars should stop flirting and start working. Lars complied, leaving Noah alone and squeezing Matt's shoulder briefly before striding up to the front.

"Hi!" he chirped to the couple. Noah and Matt exchanged glances as the Canadian passed - Noah's face was a mixture of fondness and exasperation.

"_Salut_," Matt rushed as he picked up the phone. "_C'est Cambriolage_..."

"_Salut_, Matthew!" he heard Chelles say perkily. Matt grinned.

"Hi, Chelles!" he greeted. "How are you?"

"I'm fine!" the girl replied. "Listen, I've sent someone over to pick up some bread, but I want to make sure you still have what Liz wants."

"The bread you always get?" Matt asked - at Chelles' confirmation, he said, "Yeah, there's some left. I'll put it aside for...who did you say was coming around again?"

"I didn't!" Chelles trilled. "Bye bye, Matthew, see you soon~!" then she hung up. Shaking his head, Matt put the phone back and went out to help Lars up front.

The late morning passed into early afternoon, with a rush of people before lunch and another rush a little bit after lunch. Matt was just wiping the counters down with a clean cloth when the bell jingled again.

Straightening up, the Canadian turned 'round to greet the customers but found himself just staring with a fond smile.

"_Bonjour_, _Monsieur_." he greeted. "Are you new to the bakery?"

Francis Bonnefoy closed the bakery door behind him, giving the younger man a smile.

"It depends," he purred. "Are you single?"

Matt gave a laugh and, since there were no other customers left in the bakery, wrapped his arms around Francis's neck, bringing the Frenchman in close. "As a matter of fact, I have this guy I'm seeing." he said casually. "Though I suppose if you wanted to take me out, he doesn't _have_ to know about it..."

"Ah, I suppose he would get jealous." Francis sighed against his neck, and Matt couldn't help laughing and catching Francis's lips in a kiss.

"What are you doing here?" he asked. "I thought you had a meeting...?"

"We were finished surprisingly quickly," Francis explained. "Also, Michelle _insisted_ on sending me on an errand to pick up some bread."

Matt smiled. So _that's_ why Chelles was so eager not to reveal who was coming to pick up the bread.

"I have it in the back, just hold on." he told Francis, and nipped behind the display shelves to retrieve the loaf. Lars was waiting for him with a knowing look in his eye.

"Hey, Mattie." he said. "If you want to take your break now, go ahead. Noah and I can hold down the fort."

"Really?" Matt asked - the bakery was empty for the moment, which was a good sign, and Francis _did_ come all the way here... "Are you sure you won't mind?"

"Oh no, believe me, I won't mind!" Lars laughed. Matt smiled at his friend.

"Thanks, Lars. I owe you."

"Of course you do." the Dutch man confirmed, flippantly. "All these favors are building up, _schaat_, and one day I'm going to employ them all at the same time to make one giant, massive favor."

"I shudder at the thought." Matt told him, only half-joking as he slipped out of his apron and folded it on the baker's bench. "See you in an hour."

Lars waved him away with a grin.

Handing Francis a bag with the bread in it, Matt suggested, "You want to go back to my place? I'm taking my break."

Francis's smile got wider. "Of course." he said.

Matt had gotten an apartment in the same building as Lars and Noah, so it didn't take the two of them long before they were at Matt's door. The Canadian fumbled in his pocket for his key - all the while Francis leaned up against the door frame, watching Matt with a soft look on his face.

Embarrassed with the hold up, Matt cast a shy glance at Francis as he opened the door. "S-sorry!" he apologized. "I - do you want some tea?"

Francis lifted a hand to stroke Matt's cheek as the Canadian moved past him. "Yes, please Mathieu."

As Matt made noise in the kitchen, Francis dropped his bag on the couch and surveyed the apartment with a little bit of fond annoyance. Despite his suggestions that Matt get a larger apartment, the Canadian had seemed set on this one, a small, one bedroom space with a window that overlooked a market street. The big white dog known as Kumajirou looked up from his place on the couch when Francis put the bread down - and then was immediately sniffing at it, tail wagging. With a chuckle, Francis pulled the bag away.

"_Non_, my friend, nothing for you today, I'm afraid." he told the dog, who looked at him with quizzical eyes and then settled himself back on the couch, letting a little snort out through his nose.

Francis instead placed the bag down on the side table, which held Matt's keys and a stack of mail from downstairs. On the top of the pile Francis glimpsed Cyrillic letters, and frowned.

"Are you and that Russian fellow still writing each other?" he asked, placing fingertips on the stack of mail. Matt's head poked out from the kitchen.

"Uh, yeah." Matt nodded. "Yeah, I'm learning a lot of Russian from talking to him. It's a pretty regular exchange for us."

Francis's frown remained. A couple of months ago Matt had gotten a hold of Ivan's address from Alfred and had written a letter. Francis didn't know what it entailed, only that Ivan had, eventually, sent one back. And Matt had returned it. And Ivan had returned _that_, and before long they had a regular pen pal exchange going on. When asked, Matt would brush his questions off with answers like, "He likes to talk about all sorts of stuff. We don't really have a subject we stick with. His sister's back home though! The older one. He's really happy."

Matt came fully out of the kitchen when he saw Francis still standing there, hand on the letter.

"Francis?" he asked. "What's wrong?"

Francis shook himself and smiled at his boyfriend. "Nothing." he affirmed. "Absolutely nothing, it's just funny how you still keep in touch with them after..."

Matt tilted his head. "They're not bad people." he said. "Besides, I like hearing what everyone's up to, now."

It had been hard, at first - after hearing Ivan had gone home to Moscow, Matt had set about trying to find the team's whereabouts. With a little help from Alfred, he had learned that Kiku was back in Beijing, doing work for Wang Yao, a notorious Chinese businessman. Gilbert and Ludwig had formed what Alfred could only describe as a "_brother team of assassins_", and were currently in Rome on a job.

As for Alfred....well, the last Matt had heard, his brother had called him from the airport, letting him know that he was going to London for a bit.

"Artie has a break in his work so he promised to show me around!" the American had said into the phone, voice unexpectedly soft and tender, and Matt had felt so happy for his brother he didn't even remember to remind him that he was supposed to be coming down next month to visit and _do you have your flights booked, Al?_

Knowing his brother, he probably didn't.

With a sigh, Matt wrapped his arms around Francis's waist, drawing him close. "We don't have to talk about it." he said sincerely.

"_Non_, I am sorry." Francis turned in Matt's arms to run a hand fondly through the younger man's hair. "Who am I to judge who you talk to? I must admit I can't help but be a little jealous whenever that Russian's name is mentioned."

Which was funny, Matt thought wryly, considering Francis never actually _said_ Ivan's name - he was usually "that Russian" or "Russian brute" if he was feeling particularly irritated.

"Well. You have nothing to worry about anyways." Matt declared, catching the hand that was tangled in his hair and squeezing it briefly. "I'm yours, and I always have been. And talking to Ivan won't change that at all."

Francis bent to kiss him, firmly and sweetly. "Good." he said, and as the kettle whistled he placed his hands on Matt's hips and walked the both of them over to the couch. Kumajirou jumped off as Francis settled his boyfriend down and climbed on top of him.

"Now, _mon cher_," he said teasingly, stroking Matt's cheek with his thumb and chuckling at the way he could still make Matt's face heat up. "What shall we do with your hour of break, hm?"

Matt tilted his head back as Francis began applying his tongue and teeth to the sensitive part of the Canadian's neck.

"I can - _ah_ - think of a few things." he huffed, gripping Francis's shoulders.

Smirking rather triumphantly into Matt's neck, Francis cooed, "And pray tell, what would those _few things _entail?"

Suddenly Matt had upturned him, sprawling the Frenchman on the couch, and the Canadian sauntered back towards the kitchen with a cheeky smile on his face.

"Well, I know the water's getting cold for the tea." he remarked. "So why don't we do that?"

Francis pouted, pushing his hair back and draping himself over the back of the couch. "_Mon cher_, you are so mean to me." he lamented. Matt, pouring hot water into the teapot, turned his head to roll his eyes.

"It's tough love, Francis." he reminded him. "_If_ I followed your suggestions all the time, I'd be late to work. And then Lars would have fodder to tease me for _months_."

Francis considered this. "True." he agreed. "What if I promised to make it quick?"

Matt shook his head in amusement. "Francis, you're horrible." he told him, bringing the tray with pot and cups into the living room.

"You are always so quick to point that out," Francis countered. "But you never seem to be complaining when I - "

He was cut off by a kiss. Matt pulled back, face still red. "I can't believe you." he complained, placing the tea tray on the living room table, and Francis reached up to hook an arm around Matt's neck, bringing his face back down.

"Believe me." he said huskily, before their lips met again. When they parted, Matt touched his nose to Francis's.

"I love you." he said firmly. "But I still don't want to be late for work."

Francis groaned. "You are killing me." he complained, as the little tease took a comfortable seat on his lap and reached over to pour the tea.

"You're a big boy." Matt quipped sarcastically. "You'll live." he placed the two cups in front of them. Francis ignored his tea in favor of wrapping arms around Matt, pulling him back against his chest.

"All right," he agreed. "But after work am I allowed to come over and cook you dinner?"

"Hmm?" Matt settled against his chest, fingers wrapped around his cup of tea. "Is it only going to be dinner?"

"Well." Francis rested his chin on Matt's shoulder and dared to nibble at the younger's earlobe. "I'm sure I could be coerced into...making some dessert. If you ask _nicely_."

"O-oh." Matt's voice wavered and he subconsciously pushed back against the Frenchman. "That sounds great."

"Good." Francis kissed his ear, and then gently slid out from under Matt, sitting next to him on the couch. "Drink your tea, or you'll be late."

Matt glowered half-heartedly at him, looking a little too hot and bothered to be thinking about anything except this evening. _Bingo_.

"N-no fair." he huffed, taking a sulky sip of tea. Francis laughed.

"Come, Mathieu, you know I love you."

Matt's lips curled into a smile around the edge of the cup. "Yeah. I know."

His hand twined with Francis's and for a minute the two simply sat there and drank their tea in the comfortable silence of Matt's living room.

Something came to Francis's mind and he laughed a little to himself. "I still cannot believe," he declared, "that you named your bakery _Cambriolage_."

Matt's grin was so wide it threatened to split his face. "I thought you'd like it." he admitted. "Besides, if it wasn't for everything that happened, I would never have wound up here."

Francis studied him for a minute. "And do you regret any of it?" he asked solemnly. Matt caught his stare and held it, violet eyes open and honest.

"If it ended up like _this_," he motioned vaguely with his hand but Francis knew he meant more than the apartment, "then I can't regret a single thing. I am very happy."

"The feeling is mutual." Francis assured, and leaned in for another kiss.

Matt was late for work anyways.

* * *

_It's true, I do imbue my blue unto myself, I make it bitter. Baby, lay your head on my lap one more time...Should I change my mind, I can't decide, there's too many variations to consider...You're all I need - and maybe some faith would do me some good."_ - On the Bound by Fiona Apple

* * *

_END ON THE BOUND_

* * *

**Translations:**

Cambriolage - the French word for "robbery" or "heist". Lars thought Matt was crazy for naming their bakery that; Alfred thought it was hilarious.

**Author's Note: **There we go! This is a really weird feeling for me. I started this in August while at a young writer's camp. I still have the first three chapters in my old Biology 30 notebook I used while at the camp. Now it's November, with over 100 000 words and 500 (500! HOLY SHIT) reviews. This story took me on an amazing ride, and I'm pretty surprised I managed to finish it!

Thank you to everyone who read it, and especially everyone who reviewed it. Your reviews seriously kept me going when I felt dried up and unproductive. I had a lot of fun answering your reviews and talking to a few of you who replied. Special thanks to **Twilight Rose2** - I met her at the writer's camp and the fact that she was into Hetalia too was what inspired me to start writing this. And also the fact that she is an amazing writer. Like, seriously. Also special thanks to **Beboots**, for being, well, awesome and teaching me about random stuff and mummies in universities; and **Puffi The Insane**, who cheers me up like crazy just by telling me about her life!

This fandom is fantastic and I will definitely be sticking around for a while. I hope to start working on a fic about Ukraine circa WWII, as well as some accompanying pieces to OTB. I will be going back over the next month and revising this as well, in order to make it a little more tense-friendly.

Thank you so much to everyon again, I hope you enjoyed reading On The Bound as much as I enjoyed writing it!

~**tatterdemalion**


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